


Breaking Free (I Feel Violent)

by Will_Write_4_Coffee



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Drunk!Frank, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Foggy Nelson & Karen Page Friendship, Frank Castle has PTSD, Frank also gets to have a nice Christmas, Frank and Karen just deserve a nice holiday okay, I got you fam, Karen Page has PTSD, PTSD symptoms, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, also brief mentions of Billy Russo, and brief mentions of Matt Murdock, and it's gonna get talked about okay, because I refuse to believe Foggy and Karen wouldn't still be friends, because of course, brief mentions of Curtis Hoyle, but in a fun way not a depressing way, clearly a lot of people in this show have PTSD, drunk!Karen, holiday fic, if you're here for the smut skip to the Epilogue, in which Karen needs a hug, post TPS canon, you can take their friendship from my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 21:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13373826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Will_Write_4_Coffee/pseuds/Will_Write_4_Coffee
Summary: After getting blown up (twice), shot at, held hostage, and saying goodbye to the one person she felt most connected to, Karen Page needed a break... Or so Ellison told her.With Christmas right around the corner, it was shaping up to be a bleak and lonely holiday, until a familiar face shows up...(Title and Chapter subtitles from the song "Breaking Free" by Night Riots)





	1. Part One: You're not my savior, just someone I used to see

Karen had heard the song on the radio as she’d driven back to the office, plaster dust and sweat creasing at her neck, the bends of her knees, clinging in her hair. She’d called Ellison, who practically begged her to take a cab, not to be driving in her ‘condition’. Karen had simply scoffed and buckled her seatbelt (admittedly a bit stiff, but still…) She could drive, even with her ears still ringing and head throbbing.

She was at a stop light when she’d heard it…

_You're not my savior, just someone I used to see_

_I am broken_

_Something's wrong inside of me_

Karen had turned up the volume, still gazing out the windshield in a daze.

_I feel violent_

_Like I'm dying_

_I feel broken_

_Maybe I'm just breaking free_

Her breath had caught in her throat, the same tears she’d successfully stamped down threatening to rip from her throat.

The light turned green. She’d continued to listen.

A surprisingly upbeat melody with visceral lyrics that wedged themselves between her ribs, between her teeth, to nag at her for _weeks_.

She just didn’t know it yet.

***

Ellison rubbed his thumb over his eyebrow, sighing so fully his chest seemed to actually shrink when he finished.

“Karen…”

“Oh, come on, Ellison,” she snapped, fingers still flying over the keyboard. She had a story to get out—her story. She wanted the city to read her version, her truth, before the cops and FBI had a chance to smear the names of good men and women.

One man, in particular.

Her index finger hovered over the ‘F’ key.

“Karen, go home.”

“I will, as soon as—”

“Nope, no, not ‘as soon as’. Now.” Ellison pushed away from where he’d posted himself by her door, glasses catching the light. “You’re on leave. Effective immediately.”

“Ellison!” Karen protested, glaring up from her computer screen.

“Karen, you have pieces of a hotel kitchen walk-in freezer still stuck in your hair. Exactly what makes you think you’re in any kind of condition to be writing a news story right now?”

“Because I was there.”

“So were dozens of other people—”

“They don’t know the full story!”

Ellison paused at the corner of her desk. “And you do?”

“Yes.”

“And why is that?”

It was a trap. Karen felt it in her gut the second Ellison’s tone changed. He was still convinced Karen knew Frank Castle had been alive this whole time, he was just looking for proof to finish knotting the rope that would be her noose.

Inhaling, Karen leaned back from her computer.

“I just know that the Senator is going to find a way to spin this, and that simpering coward shouldn’t get any more credit than he’s already doled out for himself.”

The ever-increasing frown line between Ellison’s brows returned.

“Alright, here’s the deal. You finish your write up and then you go home. And you _stay_ there.”

“Elli—”

“Nope,” he cut her off, shaking his head. “Look, I know you think you’ve got something to prove here, but you don’t. You’re still Karen Page, the wonder journalist who takes on bad guys. Just… take some time.” Ellison crossed his arms a little too tightly over his abdomen. “I don’t want you having a nervous breakdown in the middle of a budget meeting because you didn’t take time to recuperate after getting blown up. Twice.”

“Think I’ll become some ‘hysterical woman’, Ellison?” Derision dripped from her words.

“Stop that, you know that’s not even remotely…” He trailed off, voice cracking just a hair. “I’m glad that you’re okay. I’m even more glad you’re still of sound mind and have working hands to write your story. But I also want you to be okay _after_ this.”

After. There was that word… The same one she’d thrown at Frank, hoping for him to catch her weighty meaning. She still wasn’t sure he had…

“After,” she murmured under her breath, eyes dropping to the screen where the words ‘Frank Ca’ were left unfinished with a blinking cursor next to them.

Karen blinked and she was right back in that elevator. Blinked again and she was being flung to the ground by a deafening explosion. Blinked again and Frank’s bruised and bloody face was leaning towards hers.

“Karen?”

“Huh?”

“Go home.” Ellison’s voice was low, fatherly, concern curving every edge.

Exhaling, Karen nodded once. “I’ll be done in a few minutes, and then I’ll go.”

“As soon as you’re done. Don’t even bother proof reading,” Ellison said, starting towards the door. “Just email it to me and go.”

“Alright, alright…” Karen smirked. “And I’d like the record to show I’m doing this under duress.”

“Note the time, 2:37pm, the record will reflect that Karen Page is taking a leave of absence _under duress_ , and will not be returning to the office until Monday morning.”

“Wait, I thought—”

“Monday. Morning.” Ellison glanced over his shoulder at her. “I don’t want to see you, or hear from you, or even see your name CCed on an email until Monday morning, 9am.”

He left before Karen could argue.

***

Karen stared down at her phone, scrolling aimlessly through various social media apps until she wasn’t really taking in the details of people’s photos, statuses, memes she assumed were supposed to be funny but didn’t get the jokes. She refolded her legs in front of her, shifting against the couch cushions.

Was this relaxing for people? Was this what other people did when they had down time?

She looked up at her flickering television screen, watching the indiscriminate reality show play out with the volume turned down. Judging from the women’s facial expressions, none of them were particularly happy with each other. Karen couldn’t bother to find out why.

 _This_ was not relaxing. This was torture.

She could’ve kicked herself for taking a nap as soon as she got home. She thought it would help the headache threatening to split her skull in two, so she’d crashed on her couch the moment her shoes were off, muttering to herself she’d worry about a shower later.

Two hours and a few fitful dreams later, she was up—wide awake and wired. And her headache was still pounding away.

She’d showered, combing bits of metal and plaster out of her hair as she shampooed several times. She’d inspected her bruises, the cuts on her face and arms, checked herself for anything the paramedics hadn’t caught, but she was still in one piece. Aching and beginning to believe she had whiplash, but she’d survive.

After dressing herself in her comfiest PJs and reheating some left over Thai food, she found herself on her couch, staring blankly at her tv and fighting the urge to Google what had happened that day at the Roosevelt Hotel. It would just infuriate her, she knew it, and high blood pressure probably wouldn’t help the jackhammering in her head.

The reality housewives—Moms? Celebrities? Dancers?—continued to argue in a posh looking restaurant setting and Karen rolled her eyes.

Exiting her Facebook app, she scrolled her contacts until his name popped up.

“Karen??” Foggy’s voice was strained in her ear. “Are you okay?? I just heard—I’m still at the office, but I was gonna call. Are you alright??”

Karen smiled softly. “I’m fine Foggy, don’t worry.”

They didn’t get to see each other very often, what with her keeping long hours at the paper and Foggy gunning for a promotion by the end of the year at his new law firm, but they kept in touch regularly. Phone calls and texts mostly, but it was enough to keep their ties strong. They were all each other had left now…

“I’ll come over, I’ll bring you food!” Foggy sounded out of breath.

“I already ate—”

“I’ll bring food for tomorrow!” An elevator door dinged in the background.

“Foggy, no, that’s not necessary,” Karen said, wiggling her toes absently. “I just wanted to let you know I’m okay.”

“I can still come over tonight.” His voice was quieter, like he was around more people and trying to keep it down. “I’m finishing these notes for a case—the court date is tomorrow—but I’ll come by. Do you need aspirin? Pillows? One of those microwavable heating pads or something?”

Karen chuckled. “No, no, Foggy, I’ve got everything I need.”

“Okay, then I’ll see you tonight?”

“You don’t have to—”

“Ah ah ah, don’t even try to fight it Page, you’ll wear yourself out before you wear me down.”

Karen nodded before saying, “Okay Foggy, I yield. See you later.”

Standing, a bit gingerly if she was honest, she paced her living room out of boredom. Her gaze kept drifting to the white rose plant on her kitchen island, kept away from the window unless she had a reason to display them.

Suddenly, the room around her went blurry. Colors bled into each other, shapes melting into the background.

It took her a solid ten seconds to realize she was crying.

_…You're not my savior, just someone I used to see…_

Hot tears streamed down her face, her chest wracked with sobs. The same verse from that song rolling around in her head.

_…I am broken…Something's wrong inside of me…_

Planting her hands on her hips, phone still gripped in her right palm, Karen hung her head and stared at the floor until she could breathe normally again.

“Fuck…” she muttered, tasting salt on her lips.

Her skin burned with memories.

Calloused hands hauling her out of harm’s way. Thick arms wrapped around her torso. The cold metal of an empty gun pressed under her chin. Ragged breathing in her ear.

_“Take care…”_

She could still feel his breath on her cheeks, his bloody forehead pressed against hers…

Karen inhaled until her bruised ribs protested.

 “Fuck _.”_

***

A week without work should have been a decadent stay-cation; sleeping in, late brunches, wine at 3 in the afternoon, shopping in the middle of the day with nowhere else to be.

To Karen it was an echo chamber. An empty schedule meant there wasn’t anything to strive for. No deadlines to meet, no interviews to have, no trains to catch, no leads to investigate. Nothing to keep her overactive mind focused, nothing to give her an excuse to ignore whatever fragmented emotions began bubbling to the surface.

She tried using the time to catch up on neglected household chores and minor repairs she could manage to complete with a trip to the hardware store and a couple YouTube video tutorials. She’d thought it would take her a while—she wasn’t that familiar with tools or plumbing repair techniques—but she turned out to be a natural, and her leaky faucet, rattling showerhead, and running toilet, were all finished by dinner time. Fortunate for her pride, unfortunate for her original goal: distraction.

She ordered in pizza and popped a DVD in to pretend to watch while she ate.

Karen turned away from the kitchen island, refusing to look at the white roses still blooming, despite the almost cruel exposure to florescent lights. Looking at them hurt. Hurt her all over like aftershocks from the second bomb. She’d thought about throwing them away… but that thought was the most painful of all.

She decided to wash her extra strength aspirin down with a very large glass of wine.

Several texts from Foggy dragged her attention away from the floral display she still wasn’t looking at. Each one was in rapid succession, which wasn’t unusual for Foggy. He treated the send button like punctuation.

_Foggy: Did you hear??_

_Foggy: Something big happened at the carousel!_

_Foggy: FBI, Homeland, NYPD- they’re all involved._

Karen’s stomach dropped.

_Foggy: Frank Castle was taken into custody._

Karen’s hand flew to her mouth, hardly muffling her gasp.

_Foggy: He saved some teenagers and an agent, but…_

Karen’s knees turned to Jell-O. Reaching out blindly, she grasped the back of the couch, clinging to it as she sank to the floor.

She stared at her phone, rereading the second to last text.

_Frank Castle was taken into custody._

Swallowing hard, Karen blinked back tears. Her thumbs were faster than she gave credit for.

_Karen: Can you come by tonight? We should talk._

She hit send and waited for the text reply bubble to appear in the corner, with the tune of that chorus still in her head.

_…I feel violent… Like I'm dying…_

Karen read Foggy’s reply and wished she could laugh through the howling in her ribcage.

_Foggy: I’ve got a bottle of Jameson with your name on it._

_Karen: What’ll you drink?_

_Foggy: Jack_

_Karen: See you at 8_

***

To Foggy’s credit, he took everything Karen told him in stride. Very minimal aghast outcries, hardly any groans of disbelief, only a couple moments of ‘oh god, what…’

Karen was still glad she didn’t tell him everything.

 _Everything_ would have sent Foggy to the emergency room with heart palpitations.

She’d told him what she knew, made him swear on his life and the lives of his future little Foggys that he’d keep his mouth shut, and they’d proceeded to drink the majority of that bottle of Jameson.

Karen woke up the next day with a hangover and a knot in her stomach the size of a grapefruit. On her way to the bathroom-- either to puke her guts up or brush her teeth, she’d decide once she was there—she saw Foggy sprawled out on her living room floor, one foot hooked on the corner of her coffee table, a pillow made from his suit jacket, and she laughed until she was certain she would actually puke.

“Uuuuggghhh...” Foggy attempted to lift his head and managed only to wiggle a little. “What time is it?”

“Uh, 8:37?”

“IN THE MORNING?”

Foggy tried to get up, but his foot still on the coffee table delayed the process.

“I’m so late, _so_ very late,” he said, rolling onto his side. “Shit, okay, ugh, I can… alright, I gotta…”

It was like watching a turtle on its back try to right itself. Karen felt bad for laughing, but then again she needed it, so she forgave herself for being rude.

“Foggy? Do you want some help?”

Attempting to roll once more, Foggy finally got himself upright… and immediately looked like he regretted it.

“Oh shit, my head… my stomach… my head again…”

“Do you want coffee?”

Foggy covered his mouth and shook his head. “No… I… Water?”

Nodding, Karen shuffled to the kitchen, pouring them both a pint glass of tap water and handing one to him.

“Angel. You’re an angel,” Foggy mumbled against the glass.

“I’m the one who convinced you to play a drinking game.”

Foggy paused chugging his water. “I didn’t exactly put up a fight.” Looking around him on the floor, he asked, “Hey, do you see my phone? I need to call Marci and tell her I’m gonna be even later than I am.”

Karen glanced around the kitchen, searching for the familiar red phone case. “Uhh… hold on…” She shuffled through the clutter on her counter tops—old mail, the pizza box, a few news papers…

She bumped the plastic container the roses were still potted in, sending them tipping to one side. Grabbing them by the stems, she hissed in pain as a thorn pierced her finger.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath, watching blood drip down the creases in her palm.

“Found it!” Foggy announced, holding up his phone victoriously. “It was under the couch.” He stopped, seeing Karen’s wounded hand. “Uh oh, what happened?”

“Oh, uh, it’s okay, I just cut myself on one of the thorns…” She said, gesturing to the plant. Holding up her hand, she nodded towards the bathroom. “I’ll just go wash this… Be right back.”

Flicking the switch, she squinted in the bright light, avoiding her reflection in the vanity mirror. She knew she looked like death warmed over, she didn’t need a visual confirmation.

Rinsing the cut with warm water, she grit her teeth against the sting. A quick soapy wash and a sloppy placement of a Band-Aid and she was back together again.

“Just like humpty dumpty,” she muttered to herself as she closed the bathroom cabinet.

Foggy was struggling with his tie when she came back, and she silently offered to help him while he was on the phone. When she was done, she gently patted his chest and smiled, and he mouthed “ _angel”_ to her while listening to the other person on the line.

_…I am broken... Something's wrong inside of me…_

Karen shook her head, hoping that would end the repeating song. It didn’t.

She was gonna have to listen to Nationwide commercial jingles all day to get that song out of her head.

 “I gotta go, Karen,” Foggy called, yanking his jacket on. “I’ll call you later and see how you’re—”

“I’m fine, Foggy. You don’t need to check on me.”

“I know but—”

She waved him on. “Go, have a good day. I’ll talk to you later.”

Foggy’s stare would have been heartbreaking if she wasn’t too hungover to feel much of anything at that point.

“Alright Champ, I’ll see you later,” he said, offering a bleary smile and rushing out the door.

Karen stood in her living room, alone in the silence, for God knows how long before she broke.

More tears flowed over her pale lashes, dripping down the bridge of her nose, down her chin, staining her white tee-shirt.

“Goddamn it,” she said, thumb rubbing over her bandaged finger. She exhaled roughly, puffing her cheeks out and groaning.

She considered making breakfast, or eating the leftover slice of pizza still in the box. She thought about making coffee.

Instead, Karen turned and shuffled back to bed, turning the small tv atop her dresser on for noise, and fell asleep with the comforter over her head.

***

By Friday, Karen was convinced she’d slept as much as one person could possibly sleep. She’d been forcing herself to go to bed by 11pm and not set an alarm. She was shocked at how late she continued to sleep, despite feeling rested previous days.

She’d cleaned everything in her apartment—twice— and washed every piece of clothing she owned, even her rarely used swimsuit and that scratchy sweater her old neighbor had knitted for her years ago. She hadn’t had the heart to toss it, even with all the moving she’d done.

_“You’re still all heart, huh?”_

His voice crashed inside her head like breaking glass. Like metal shrapnel. Like a catastrophe.

Karen’s fingers fumbled with the chunky, faded sweater. She glanced over her shoulder, almost convinced she’d find him standing in her living room, right outside her bedroom door.

Nothing. No one.

She was alone.

Karen bit her lip, fighting the tears that had become routine. She’d done a little research, wanting to make sure this wasn’t going to be her new normal, and found dozens of articles explaining post-traumatic stress and how episodes of sadness and crying were to be expected.

She still called bullshit.

A very quiet voice inside her warned that she wasn’t traumatized, she wasn’t shaken or bereaved… She was broken. Mangled.

The Karen Page she was, standing there in her favorite college tee shirt and yoga pants in bare feet, was not the same Karen Page from a week ago. From a month ago. Six months. Six years…

 _Good,_ she thought. _I don’t want to be the same. The old me wasn’t doing any favors, for me or anyone else._

That same music played over and over in her head.

_… I feel broken… Maybe I'm just breaking free…_

She tossed her half-folded sweater into her dresser drawer and strode into her kitchen. Pouring the rest of the coffee from her pot into the mug she’d used that morning, she waited for it to reheat while leaning against the counter, chewing a dry spot on her lower lip.

Sometimes people changed all at once. Their own Big Bang of remaking.

And sometimes people changed slowly. One event at a time. Shedding an inch of skin for every thirty yards they crawled.

But both ways are just as brutal. Just as bloody.

A bullet to the brain and funerals you can’t attend.

Things you once held dear ripped from you. Innocence lost. Anger that has nowhere to go but down… down… down…

The microwave beeped, and Karen jerked. She blinked, surprised she wasn’t crying again, when she certainly felt like she could.

She was on her third sip of coffee when it dawned on her that there hadn’t been a follow-up to Frank being arrested again. Eyes wide, she rushed for her phone to quickly Google ‘Frank Castle arrest’ and saw only the articles from earlier in the week. The more she scrolled, the older the dates were—most of those were events she was involved in herself. She even spotted her own face in a few of the photos posted along with articles about the “The Punisher”.

Scrolling to the top, she checked the dates again. Nothing new since Tuesday. Nothing about Castle being arraigned, nothing about a court date or any more details about his apprehension.

The Punisher gets caught by the FBI and Homeland and no one is even tweeting about it?

Karen scowled at her phone screen, skimming a few of the latest posts made by her own paper. The staff writer they chose—Rick—was too green for a story like this. His writing was about as engaging as a college sophomore’s humanities paper.

She wrote, deleted, and rewrote several texts to Ellison, but eventually deleted them for good and locked her phone. If he answered, it wouldn’t be to tell her anything about Frank’s case, it would be to tell her ‘Not until Monday, Miss Page’ and ignore anything else from her.

But Ellison wasn’t the only one she knew with an interest in Frank Castle.

Jerking her head up, Karen scanned the room for her purse. She remembered stuffing the business card in her wallet on her way in to talk to Brett.

Putting her coffee down, she began rifling through her bag and sighed when she felt the thick cardstock between her fingers. She contemplated her opening line as she dialed, took a deep breath as the third ring trilled in her ear.

“You’ve reached the voicemail of Special Agent Dinah Madani, please leave your name and number and a detailed message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible, thank you.”

_Well, shit._

“Uh, hi Agent Madani, this is… this is Karen Page…” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, glancing down at her kitchen tile. “I just had a few questions about… About the Frank Castle apprehension.” She paused and then added, “Off the record. If you could call me back, I would greatly appreciate it.”

Karen left her number at the end of the message before hanging up.

Exhaling in a long sigh, she picked her coffee mug back up and held it until the contents were cold and the light began to fade from her living room.

***

The weekend was spent grocery shopping, making a couple frivolous purchases at the boutique by her apartment—a new blouse, a cute scarf—and checking her phone every five goddamn minutes.

Nothing from Madani. Not a call or email even. And it wasn’t for lack of trying. Karen had taken to calling multiple times a day, leaving voicemails and texting her.

_“Go now, Karen! Run!”_

_“Hell no, not without you!”_

Hissing noises from the espresso machine blurred with the sounds of metal being blown apart.

“Soy cinnamon latte for Karen?”

_Karen!_

“Karen?”

She blinked, shaking her head.

“Sorry, yes,” she said, rushing forward to take her coffee. She must have still looked dazed, because the barista flashed a worried smile that made Karen’s cheeks heat up.

She was supposed to be getting better, not worse. Wasn’t time off supposed to make her less jittery, less distracted, less… nuts?

 _This isn’t something time will heal,_ that voice warned. _The cuts on your face will fade, but the wounds beneath the surface are much worse…_

Karen scowled as she drank her first sip, burning her tongue and hardly flinching.

Her phone buzzing however made her jerk so suddenly she accidentally elbowed the napkin dispenser on the end of the bar.

The disappointment that flooded her system when she saw Foggy’s name in the text header nearly soured her stomach.

_Foggy: Excited about going back to work?_

_Karen: Not exactly how I’d phrase it…_

_Foggy: How about… Excited about getting to grill Ellison for Punisher news?_

_Karen: Abso-fuckin-lutely_

_Foggy: Atta girl_

She sipped her coffee, smirking around the lip of the paper cup.

 _“Atta girl,”_ his voice echoed, and she felt her hand tap her purse, muscle memory reenacting the scene inside her head.

Fuck, this was getting pathetic. Even in daylight, in public, in the least memorable places, she was still haunted.

She typed out a quick message to Foggy about how they should get dinner later in the week, and stuffed her phone back in her purse. She was out the café door before realizing it would soon be Thanksgiving, and that Foggy probably had plans—he usually visited his mother and always came back with hilarious recounts of how the woman would beg him to become a butcher.

 _Guess I’m covering for the paper then,_ she thought, quite pleased by the idea of being mostly alone in her office, churning out stories for the holiday issues. She missed the ache of overuse in her fingers.

Wanting the time to mentally prepare herself, Karen chose to walk to the office, despite the chill and gusts of wind that cut right through her. Her sensible flats tapped on the concrete and she realized she was practically jogging. Whether she was running _to_ or _away_ from something left to be seen.

Friendly faces greeted her as she entered the building, flashing her badge to the guard posted downstairs—a precaution just in case another extremist like Lewis decided to take out ‘everyone at their liberal paper’.

What left a sour taste in her mouth was the unspoken but not well-hidden belief that Frank Castle was still a part in Lewis’ schemes—people who hadn’t been caught up on the true details of the situation… Details that she would never be able to say aloud, except to Foggy or maybe, _maybe_ Agent Madani. But that didn’t mean Karen would sit quietly while people slandered the man who saved her life.

Her jaw ticked and she blinked, realizing she’d been grinding her teeth the whole elevator ride.

Greeting a few of her coworkers as she walked by their desks, Karen B-lined for her office only to find Ellison hovering by her door.

“8:58,” he said, glancing at his watch. “And here I was starting to believe you’d actually followed my direction for once.”

“Come on, Ellison,” Karen retorted lightly, smiling. “You know I gotta push back a little.” She unlocked her office door and entered, shrugging out of her coat.

Adjusting his glasses, Ellison followed her in, still staying close to the door. “Uh, don’t get too comfortable…”

Karen’s stomach flipped. “What do you mean?” Her lips flattened into a line as she stared at him. “I stayed away from the office like you asked, you can’t _possibly_ be putting me on leave again—”

“No, no,” he reassured, shaking his head. “It’s not that. We, uh… We have a meeting.”

Karen’s interest was piqued. “With?”

“I almost don’t want to tell you, just so you’ll get the full effect.”

“Ellison…”

“Fine, fine, okay.” He crossed one arm over his chest, waving the rolled paper he had in his other hand. “We’ve been requested to attend a special sit down. With Special Agent Madani.”

Karen’s mouth fell open. “I’ve been calling her all weekend! I had questions about—”

“The apprehension of Frank Castle? Yeah.” Ellison nodded. Lowering his voice, he continued. “Between us, Madani was injured that night. She’s been in the hospital but she’s home now and she wants to talk to us. But I’m not so sure it’s going to be a story…”

Squinting, Karen planted her hands on her hips. “You think she’s going to tell us to keep this quiet?”

“We don’t even know what _this_ is.”

“It’s obviously got something to do with Castle, I mean, why else would she call both of us in?”

Ellison’s gaze turned suspicious for just a moment. “Why indeed.”

Karen pursed her lips, gaze drifting to the side. It was better to stay silent than to argue at this point.

Snapping himself out of it, Ellison rolled his shoulders. “Anyway, we have a car waiting for us downstairs so…” He gestured towards the door, and Karen smirked.

“Do anything to keep me out of the office, won’t you?”

“I’m a devious man, Page.”

***

Karen spent the whole ride coaching herself. She didn’t have to seem completely neutral to the fate of Frank Castle, as Madani already knew there was, as she put it, a ‘connection’ between them. However, Karen knew better than to rush into the meeting firing question after question about where Frank was, if he was okay, was he to be arraigned soon or were they just going to ship him off to some remote penitentiary for the criminally insane without another word?

That thought sent a pain through Karen’s middle, making her wince.

 _Gonna have to tighten up that poker face if you want to make it through this meeting,_ she told herself, staring out the window.

For the first time in a long while, Karen made the silent decision to let Ellison take the lead. She’d fill in the gaps when and where she could, and if she was lucky, she’d find a few nuggets that might lead her to an answer—a real answer.

She was surprised they pulled up in front of an apartment building, not the Homeland Security offices she’d been expecting. A valet opened her door for her, and Karen and Ellison quickly got out, hurrying to get into the lobby and out of the cold.

They were quiet the whole elevator ride up to the top floor, but Ellison’s excitement was palpable. She couldn’t blame him—if this turned into anything usable, it could be the story of the year for the paper.

Ellison knocked on the apartment door and they were met by man about Ellison’s age, a few inches shorter, but who carried himself with all the command of a 6 foot tall diplomat.

“Uh, hi,” Ellison greeted in confusion. “We’re here to meet with—”

“Special Agent Madani, yes, I know,” the man said, opening the door wider. “I’m Rafael Hernandez, operations director at the Department of Homeland Security. Please, come in.”

Karen followed Ellison into the lavish apartment, glancing around for anyone else in the room.

“We were told—”

“Dinah will be out in just a moment, she’s… just getting ready.” Rafael smiled, clearly trying to put them at ease. “Please, let me take your coats.”

Karen had just handed her heavy wool coat over to the man when a bedroom door opened, Midani appearing in the living room.

“Thanks, Rafi. I can take it from here.”

Nodding, Rafael hung up the coats and went over to Dinah, whispering something to her before excusing himself to the kitchen.

Stepping forward, Madani tipped her head to Karen and Ellison both. “Thank you for coming.”

“Not a problem,” Ellison said.

Dark bruises shadowed Madani’s face, but they couldn’t distort her beauty. Even recuperating and in sweats she was lovely.

“Please, sit,” she told them, gesturing to the dining room table and plush chairs.

“We’re glad to see you’re alright, Special Agent Madani,” Ellison said, lowering himself into the nearest seat.

Offering a small smile, she said, “Call me Dinah. And thank you.”

Karen unclipped her pen from her notebook and cracked the spine, finding a blank page to date and title in shorthand. She made sure Ellison and Madani were still focused on pleasantries as she slid her hand into her purse and found her phone. She’d opened the recording app already when they were in the car, all she had to do was unlock the screen and hit the mic icon.

Which she did without hesitation.

Ellison leaned back a little in his seat, opening his hands in gesture to start the conversation. “So… What can we do for you, Agent—sorry, Dinah.”

Madani smiled again, tighter than before. “I appreciate you taking the time to come here. As you can probably tell, I’m still in no shape to be in the office. I wouldn’t want my team to see me this way.”

Karen noted the purposeful exposition of a personal detail, an emotional admission meant to gain trust. ‘I show you mine, you show me yours’ tactics Karen was all too familiar with.

“Of course,” Ellison said. “I take it this is about the incident at the carousel? Well, the second incident.”

Karen’s gaze dropped to her notebook, where her pen hovered, ready to begin documenting.

“Indeed. Officially, the incident at the carousel is still under investigation but Billy Russo has been in custody since the event, and we have substantial evidence that links him to Kandahar.” Dinah shifted in her seat, wincing only slightly. “However, because Rawlins kept Operation Cerberus off the books, Congress is still blissfully unaware that the United States military developed its own hit squad. Which means any and all legal action that could have been taken is unavailable to us.”

Karen scribbled as quickly as she could. “What does that mean?”

“It means we’re dealing in half-truths,” Dinah admitted. “Russo and the drug smuggling ring out of Kandahar are fair game, but the war crimes Rawlins committed are to be left untouched.”

“Fair game,” Ellison echoed. “You mean for us? For the paper?”

Dinah nodded. “I don’t want this to be swept under the rug—these men should have their dirty laundry hung for all to see. Unfortunately, my hands are tied concerning Rawlins and anyone else in the upper echelons who might have been involved.” Her dark eyes landed on Karen. “And that means any investigation into those sides of this story will be shut down immediately.”

Karen’s smirk was bitter. “Is that a _friendly_ warning, Agent Madani?”

“Think of it as a request,” Dinah said, leaning forward on her elbows. “I’ve had to relinquish my hold on a few… cases, instead offering up what can be used for the greater good.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning Russo, Schoonover, and anyone else connected to using army K.I.As to smuggle heroin out of Iraq should have their name plastered on every paper in the US and shamed for what they’ve done. I can live with Rawlins getting his comeuppance in the shadows, as long as our country still knows there were good men trying to do the right thing.”

Karen bit the inside of her lip, struggling for the right way to ask the questions clawing up her throat.

Ellison beat her to the punch. “What about Frank Castle?” He asked. “It was reported he was apprehended at the scene that night at the carousel, but there’s been nothing else mentioned about him or his trial—”

“Off the record?” Dinah interrupted, looking at Karen and her furiously scribbling pen.

Karen stopped writing immediately.

But her phone continued to record.

“Frank Castle _was_ apprehended that night. He was caught because he allowed himself to be, to save me.” Madani gestured to the square gauze bandage at her temple. “Billy Russo shot me, and Castle kept me alive long enough for the paramedics to get there.”

Karen’s chest tightened as she listened to Madani’s story. _Sounds like Frank, s_ he thought.

Madani’s stare softened. “After the details of what happened to Castle and his family came to light, the Bureau decided it would be… inhumane to prosecute him given the circumstances.”

Ellison shifted uncomfortably. “You’re… You’re not going to prosecute a mass murderer?”

“Officially, Frank Castle is dead,” Dinah said, head tilting slightly. “We can’t prosecute a dead man.”

“But he’s not,” Karen blurted out. “Right? He’s… he’s alive.”

The beat of silence that enveloped them as Madani regarded Karen was the longest in Karen’s natural born life.

“The man formally known as Frank Castle is alive, yes. But any traces of him have been wiped from our system or linked to that of an unidentified dead man from a cold case from 15 years ago. As long as he keeps his proverbial nose clean, the agency has no interest in him.”

Karen gripped the corner of her notebook, trying to anchor herself.

Frank was alive. He was alive and out of prison…

… And he hadn’t told her.

Swallowing hard, she looked down at her pen before glancing back up at Madani.

“So… You want us to run the drug smuggling story—the full story. But continue to play pawn in this Rawlins, Cerberus cover up.”

Ellison’s expression as he turned to look at her would have been comical if Karen wasn’t busy trying to tame the flames that had erupted inside her ribcage.

Dinah’s mouth quirked in an amused grin. “I’m _asking_ you to do me—and the Bureau—a favor.”

“That’s one hell of a favor.”

“Karen,” Ellison warned in a whisper.

“I understand how this looks, but trust me, this isn’t a shadowy government cover up.”

“Sure about that?” Karen asked, scribbling notes and glaring up at Madani.

“It’s the only way we all get what we want,” Dinah stated, voice stern. “Including your friend, Lt. Castle.”

Karen’s pen stalled, the end of her ‘g’ turning into a monstrous squiggle. She couldn’t be certain, but that felt like a threat. ‘Including your friend’, said with the same tone as a mugger with a gun in his pocket. Would Madani really use Frank’s freedom as leverage to get Karen and The Bulletin to comply? How could she be certain it would work? Frank hadn’t even told Karen he was alive, let alone come by for a visit and a cup of tea. What kind of friends were they if he didn’t even feel the need to announce she wouldn’t have to plan another fucking funeral this year.

“We’re gonna need a little more than that, Agent Madani,” Karen countered, calling her bluff. “With the state the city is in lately, I wouldn’t be surprised if more shit like this floated to the surface. More transgressions brought to light…” She leaned forward, pressing her forearm into her knee. “You say you want the truth told?”

“Of course.”

“Then the Bulletin gets first exclusives on any and all stories of interest,” Karen said firmly. “And we get first call backs for quotes.”

Ellison simply pressed his lips together and leaned back in his chair, waiting and watching.

Dinah’s dark gaze sparked, like light off a flint stone. “You drive a hard bargain Miss Page.”

“I just know my worth,” Karen replied, tapping the end of her pen on her notebook.

“And the _paper’s_ worth,” Ellison added, though the two women didn’t seem to notice.

After a tense moment of consideration, Madani nodded once. “Deal.”

Karen grinned, and finished writing her notes.

The whole ride back down the elevator, Ellison kept rubbing his head and exhaling like he was trying to launch himself into the air.

“That was…” He scratched the back of his neck. “ _Jesus Christ_.”

Karen smirked. “Come on Ellison,” she said as the elevator reached the lobby. The doors opened with a ding as she said, “Give a girl some credit,” before striding out into the brightly lit first floor.


	2. Part Two: I've been holding up, I've been holding on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The angst is strong with this one.

Thanksgiving came and went, and soon Karen was noticing more and more Christmas lights decorating shop windows. Small plastic trees with tiny ornaments on her co-workers’ desks and in the break room, shiny garland hung around the office, even Ellison had multi-colored lights around his door, and he was Jewish.

“Everyone enjoys twinkle lights, Karen,” he’d told her when she saw him hanging them up. She’d just giggled and walked by to get another cup of coffee.

Things almost felt normal again.

Almost.

She still woke up in the middle of the night to the sounds of exploding doorframes, metal doors being wrenched from their hinges, the feeling of a solid arm and calloused hand gripping her head, her neck, tangling in her hair.

A sandpaper voice asking, _“You okay?”_ through the ringing in her ears.

Karen was back to old habits and she couldn’t muster up the energy to care. Staying late at the office, going home and refusing to sleep until it was necessary to be able to function the next day. She was drinking too much coffee, eating too little, and when she wasn’t overloading her system with caffeine, she was having a glass of wine for dinner. The glass usually turned into a bottle on weekends, if she didn’t have anywhere to be the next day.

It was like looking in on herself from outside a window. She could see herself making the same choices—ones she’d once declared self-destructive after Matt died and tried to give up—but she didn’t have the willpower to stop herself.

At least she knew how to operate in these patterns. She knew this dance. She even knew how to cover up her missteps.

Her work never suffered. In fact, she thrived on the strenuous deadlines, the constant hum of adrenaline in her system. Thrived on it because she could hide in it.

 _You’re gonna break, you know,_ that voice warned. _You’ll break, and no one will even know why._

Karen swallowed her tepid coffee, imagining that voice drowning in it, and got to work on her next story.

***

The company Christmas party was always on the 23rd, and Ellison demanded Karen take Christmas Eve, Christmas, and the following two days off. She’d been pumping out article after article and he thought giving her time off was a reward. But Karen’s heart started beating double-time, the edges of panic closing in. She didn’t want the time off, she didn’t want to be in her apartment, alone, for 4 full days. Foggy was up to his neck in briefings, and Karen’s fledgling friendship with Trish Walker wasn’t exactly to the level of ‘come distract me from myself over Christmas’ yet, which left Karen precisely in the Party of One category.

She tried, and failed, to convince Ellison she didn’t need the time.

“Nonsense,” he said, shaking his head in that way that could only be described as ‘dad-like’. “Take the vacation. You’ll be getting paid for it anyway, so it’s not like you really have an excuse not to.”

Karen opened her mouth to respond and then quickly snapped it closed. It felt like another trap, a way to get her to slip up and tell him what’s really on her mind.

“Alright,” she said, flashing a quick smile. “You’re the boss.”

“Don’t remind me,” he said, leaving her office to deliver edits to a couple other staff writers.

Karen was surprised she enjoyed the office party as much as she did. As she sipped her punch, spiked with something much stronger than she was used to, she absently thought if she was soaking up as much social interaction as she could, knowing she was about to be thrust into isolation come the morning.

 _Way to be a Debbie Downer,_ she thought, snorting at her own joke.

Maybe she should switch to water…

Karen and a few others were the last to leave, sharing a cab instead of marching through the snow and slush.

Warm from her buzz, but still in charge of most of her faculties, she made it up the 4 flights of stairs to her apartment with only a little swaying. Keys jingling in her hand, she took a moment to steady herself before attempting the lock, pressing her forehead to the door.

_“Go, go on.”_

_“…Take care.”_

A knot swelled in her throat, choking her.

She’d told him to go. She’d pulled herself away.

Maybe if she’d hung on a little longer, a little tighter… Maybe if…

Karen slid her key into the lock and twisted with such force she thought the key would snap, and was thankful it didn’t. Finding a locksmith two days before Christmas would be nearly impossible.

Flicking on the light, she dropped her purse on the entryway table, and shucked her coat, ready to fling it over the back of the couch. All she could think about were her warm flannel PJ bottoms and her fuzzy socks—a gift from Foggy for her birthday.

She left a trail of clothes and illumination as she moved through the apartment-- shedding her heels by the couch while she turned on the lights of her Christmas tree, her sweater over the back of a chair as she clicked on the lamp, her skirt and tights as she moved into her bedroom and turned on the reading light.

Before redressing, she dug a hair band out of her jewelry box and pulled her hair into a high ponytail. She caught herself humming a Christmas song—Last Christmas, the Wham! version—while she searched for a sweatshirt to go with her sleep pants. Eventually, with only one dramatic tilt to the side as she pulled on her PJs, she was comfortable and warm and ready to crash on her couch with a bad movie playing on the tv.

She made it three steps out of her bedroom when she saw black boots, dark jeans, dark… everything.

Karen gasped, hand flying to her throat.

Lamp light and the reds and greens from her tree gave the figure dimension. And finally, she could make out the face under the dark hat and hood.

She’d know that nose anywhere.

“Frank?” She breathed.

Hands lifted to push back his hood, to remove his hat. A smile started to curve his mouth.

“Merry Christmas, Karen.”

She blinked. She blinked again.

He wasn’t disappearing.

“What… What are you doing here?” She could barely hear herself over the roar of her pulse in her ears.

He twisted his hat in his hands. “You didn’t close your door all the way…”

“How did you know my door was open?”

“…It’s not safe, Karen, you should know—”

“Frank, where have you been?” She snapped, cutting him off. She was suddenly feeling soberer. Shock will do that to a person.

Shifting on his feet, he glanced down, avoiding her stare. “I, uh…”

 _“I had business, Karen.”_ She expected to hear the same answer, in the same tone that made her cringe away from the prospect of prying.

Frank looked up at her, going still. “I’ve been around.”

Pinching her lips together tight, Karen inhaled steadily through her nose. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected from a reunion with Frank, but this… this wasn’t quite it.

If she was honest, he was ruining her buzz.

“Around, huh?” She asked, fighting the urge not to sneer. Turning, she went into her kitchen for a glass of water. She _felt_ him take a couple steps closer.

“I guess you-- you heard about what happened at the carousel,” he said, voice like gravel swirling around a glass of whiskey.

Karen nodded, chugging the tap water and refilling her cup. “Yup.”

“They, uh… They wiped my prints. My records. Gave me a clean slate… sorta.”

“Heard that too.” Karen said, turning to brace her hip against the counter so she could look at him.

Frank smirked. “You talked to Madani.” It wasn’t a question.

“Sure did.” She knew how she sounded. Knew her voice was cold and unforgiving, but any urge to be compassionate hadn’t quite caught up yet.

The sliver of a grin still on his lips fell, and his brows furrowed. “Karen, hey…”

“You wanna know how that meeting went?” She interrupted again, anger fueled by whatever clear liquor she’d spent most of the night drinking rushing to the surface. “We got to have a special sit down with Madani, got to see the inside of her place—nice apartment, by the way—and she tells us, first about the drugs being smuggled out of Kandahar and Billy Russo’s involvement and then she says you’re alive.”

There was a beat of silence as she gauged his reaction. He was frozen, watching her. Waiting.

Pushing away from the counter, she continued. “Not just alive, but free. You’re not being prosecuted. You’re not going to jail. You’ve been given a new identity and have been out in the world for days.” She set her cup down on the kitchen island, next to the white roses that were wilting from lack of sunlight. “And _then_ she had the nerve to use our… relationship as a veiled threat to stay in our lane and not pursue the Cerberus story or anything about Rawlins. To keep quiet.”

An almost imperceptible wince made the corners of his eyes wrinkle.

Karen locked her gaze on him, refusing to let up. “And you know what my first thought was? How good of friends could we _possibly_ be if I didn’t even know he wasn’t in prison?”

Frank sniffed. “Ghosted on you before,” he said, voice impossibly deeper. “Didn’t seem to bother you much then.”

“Bullshit,” she snapped. “That was before, that was—”

“What? What was it, Karen?”

“That was different!”

“Different, yeah. You tellin’ me I’m dead to you now, that’s what made it different.”

“No, it was—”

“You just like gettin’ to call the shots,” Frank cut in, taking a step forward. “People can fuck off, but only on your terms, is that right?”

Karen’s face heated up, anger spiking her temperature. “That’s _not_ what I’m saying!”

“No? No, then what are you saying?”

She stopped, taking a deep breath. “We were… Things changed, Frank. And I just thought…” She went to drag her fingers through her hair, only to remember she’d put it up. “I thought maybe if someone was worth a phone call, maybe it would’ve been me. But I guess… I guess I was wrong.”

Frank’s gaze softened, and she caught the movement of his lips as he mumbled incoherently under his breath before saying louder, “I wanted to. Thought about it. But…”

Karen braced herself for whatever explanation he was about to give her that would cancel her out of his life. Again.

“I… I wanted to get myself a little more right first.”

Confusion doused her anger and drew her brows together.

Frank looked down at his hat still in his hands. “Been goin’ to Curt’s group… It’s, uh… It helps. I think.” He shrugged one shoulder, glancing up. “Maybe what helps is that I want it to help… so…”

Karen’s lips parted. “I… I’m not sure I understand.”

“I wanted to tell you,” he said, with as soft of a voice as he could manage. “Thought about showing up with pizza and beer or some shit, like a surprise, but…” His head tilted, in that very Frank way of dismissing everything, even himself. “I, uh, I didn’t think… And then you started back at work—”

“How did you—”

“I’m a loyal reader of The New York Bulletin, Miss Page,” he said, tone a little lighter, a little jovial. “I saw you didn’t have any new articles for about a week, and then your name was on a front-page story, so I figured…”

Karen’s anger went from a rolling boil to a low simmer. “Still could’ve called.”

“Oh yeah?” He flashed a lopsided grin. “Wouldn’t’ve hung up on me, huh?”

Despite herself, Karen smiled. “Well, you did save my life. Twice.”

The tension from their argument evaporated, floating out of the room through the air ducts.

“You want something to drink?” She asked, feeling the need to do something with her hands.

“If you’re offerin’.”

“Beer?”

He grunted his agreement and she turned towards her fridge. Frank took to slowly wandering her living room, taking note of her decorations.

“Must’ve been a bitch gettin’ a tree all the way up here,” he said, jerking his chin at her Douglas Fir.

“Foggy helped,” she said, smiling as she brought him his beer.

Taking a swig from the bottle, Frank quirked an eyebrow. “Hm.”

“What?”

He shook his head and Karen could practically read what he _wasn’t_ saying on his face.

She chuckled. “Foggy’s stronger than he looks.”

“For a suit, maybe.”

“He offered to help.”

“At least he’s got manners.”

Karen folded her arms over her stomach, still unsure of what to do with her hands. “You… wanna sit?”

She got to the sofa first, folding herself into the far corner as he took the opposite end, legs open in a wide V, back slouched just a little. She wasn’t used to seeing him in such a relaxed posture. It was… nice.

“The suit help you decorate too?” He asked, sipping his beer.

Karen shook her head, propping her elbow up on the back of the couch. “Nope, that was all me. So keep your criticisms to yourself.”

Frank grinned. “Nah, none of that. It looks great.”

They sat there for God knows how long, with Frank staring at the Christmas tree, and Karen staring at him.

He shifted a little on the cushion, resting the bottle on his knee. “Maria, she… She loved decorating for the holidays. She went all out too. Day after Thanksgiving it was like waking up in the North Pole.”

Karen giggled, and Frank turned his head to look at her.

“You… you got a favorite?” He asked, gesturing to the ornaments shimmering in the multicolored lights.

“Hmm…” Karen thought, looking up at her tree. “Maybe the fuzzy reindeer? Up there, near the top.” She pointed out the worn, handstitched reindeer.

“Yeah?”

She nodded, resting her head on her fist. “My grandma made it for me. She made ornaments for all the grandkids. The reindeer is mine, my brother got a snowman, my cousin got… um, I think she got a Christmas mouse—"

“A what?” Frank asked, bottle halfway to his lips.

“You know, a little Christmas mouse,” she said, trying to pantomime. “It’s a little mouse with a Santa hat.”

He arched a brow, looking at her like she was nuts. “A mouse with a Santa hat? Is that… that a Vermont thing, or…?”

Karen laughed. “It’s a thing, I promise.”

“Alright, guess I’ll take your word for it.”

“Guess you will,” she retorted, feeling warm again, but this time it wasn’t from the alcohol. “Did you have a favorite ornament growing up?”

Frank sipped his beer and thought. “Not an ornament… but my mom, she had this set of nutcrackers. They all were characters from the play, you know? I loved the Toy Soldier one the best.”

Karen laughed softly and Frank chuckled, glancing at her.

“Yeah, I know, some kinda cliché bullshit, right? The Marine loving the solider one the best.” He smiled into his beer. “I always got in trouble for sneaking it up to my room to play with.”

“I used to steal my mother’s best outfits to play dress up in,” Karen admitted, smile still on her lips. “The expensive cocktail dresses she’d have to wear to company functions, her designer shoes, her pearls…”

“Uh oh… Y’didn’t lose those, did you?”

Karen shook her head. “No, no, but I’d hide them under my bed and my mom would get _so_ mad.” She laughed at the memory. “She’d ban me from her closet but the second she was out of the house…”

“Went right back, didn’t you?”

“Oh yeah.” She nodded, grinning at him.

“Seems like you’ve always been a tenacious one, huh?”

Karen lifted her chin with pride. “Since day one.”

“Atta girl.”

They stayed like that, chatting easily long into the night. Karen even got to tease him about how he was letting his hair grow long again, calling him ‘hipster’ a couple of times just to see him smile. Frank held onto his long-empty beer bottle, refusing to get off the couch for another, or to make her get him one. Soon Karen was drifting off mid-sentence (Frank’s or hers) and he started to excuse himself, telling her he shouldn’t have kept her up so late.

“Stay?” She asked without thinking. Her eyelids were half-down, but she would have sworn she saw genuine shock flash across his face. Straightening up a little, she decided to ask again. “Will you stay?”

He regarded her a moment, dark eyes catching the glow from the Christmas tree. “Not still mad at me, are ya?” He asked, tilting his head. “Don’t wanna wake up with my hand in a bowl of warm water or somethin’…”

Karen’s laugh exploded from her and she covered her mouth. “I’d never!” She said, still laughing. “Scouts honor.”

“You were a scout?”

“Um… no…?”

Chuckling, Frank shook his head. “Then that don’t mean much, does it?”

“I promise not to fuck with you in your sleep,” she said, as earnestly as she could. “So… will you?”

He was quiet, staring down at the empty bottle still in his hands. “Okay,” he said, nodding once.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

***

Karen awoke with a start—the sound of metal banging being too similar to the sounds from her nightmares. Blinking rapidly, she glanced around her room, remembering where she was.

She rolled onto her side, stretching as she stared out into the living room. Details from the night before started filtering back, just as another metal bang sound made her jump.

Quickly rolling out of bed, she hurried into the kitchen, bare feet instantly freezing on the cold linoleum.

“Frank?” She called, voice rough from sleep.

Standing up from where he was crouched, Frank turned to face her, holding a frying pan. “Hey, mornin’,” he said. “Didn’t mean to wake you. I was gonna get breakfast going for you and then I knocked over the leaning tower of Pisa you got in that cabinet.” He pointed with the end of the pan.

Karen flashed a tired smile. “Oh, yeah… Been meaning to reorganize.” She finger-combed her hair back from her face. “Coffee?”

“Already made.”

She cast him another look, noticing he’d rid himself of his jacket and hoodie, and was only in a black henly and his jeans and boots. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she got a mug from her cupboard and poured herself a cup of coffee.

“You want some?”

Frank’s answer was to lift his own mug—one she hadn’t noticed—and quietly grunt. It made Karen grin.

“So what’s on the menu this morning?” She asked, leaning against the counter to watch him dice a bell pepper.

“You had a bunch of vegetables that needed to be eaten,” he said, gesturing to the selection next to the cutting board. “What, you go to the store just to buy stuff to let it rot?”

Karen pulled her mug away from her lips. “I’m busy, Frank, I don’t always have time to cook.”

“Hm. Seems to reason you shouldn’t buy food you don’t have time to cook then.”

“Seriously?”

He sniffed. “Just a waste, is all.”

“Someone woke up on the lecture-y side of the bed this morning.”

“Sofa. And… sorry.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I think I’ve been around David too long.”

She sipped her coffee and smirked. “You didn’t happen to pick up any computer smarts did you? ‘Cause my laptop has been a little glitchy.”

Frank shook his head and she caught the corner of a smile. “Nope. You’re on your own.”

“Damn.”

“How’s an omelet with spicy sausage sound?”

Karen nodded, stomach already growling. “Sounds perfect.”

Frank gestured towards the lone barstool by her kitchen island. “Have a seat, it’ll be done shortly.”

“I didn’t know you could cook,” she said, watching him as she sat down.

“I’m a man of many talents, Miss Page,” he told her, graveled voice surprisingly sweeter. “I can also sew.”

“Fabric or flesh?”

“Both.”

Karen chuckled into her coffee.

“You sleep alright?” He asked, scraping the vegetables into the frying pan.

Flattening her lips into a line, Karen hummed a ‘yes’. It was the best she could do to deflect. She wasn’t sure she was ready to tell anyone—let alone Frank—about her nightmares.

“You?” She asked quickly.

“I’ve been sleepin’ on a cot about as thin as a sheet of paper for the last few months. Your couch was a cloud compared to that.”

“I’ll have to leave a review on IKEA’s website then. ‘Better than a basement cot’.”

Frank chuckled, turning the heat up on the pan and adding salt. An amenable silence enveloped the room, with Karen sipping her coffee while Frank cooked. Occasionally they’d catch each other’s eye and duck their heads, almost blushing.

It felt strange having Frank in her space, being so surprisingly domestic with a KBAR still strapped to his belt. But it was a strangeness Karen found herself wanting to get used to. Wanting more of.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” she announced, breaking the silence. “Got any plans?”

She realized how ridiculous that question must have been, as if she expected previously-assumed-dead-Frank-Castle to turn around and tell her he was going to a Christmas party.

“Nope,” Frank said, graciously sparing her a sarcastic glance. “You?”

“Ellison gave me 4 days off from the paper,” she said, distracting herself with one of the shopping mailers she’d gotten with her stack of junk mail. “I was thinking of attempting a real Christmas dinner for myself. I make a mean Thai curry.”

“Thai food?” Frank looked over his shoulder at her, halting his sautéing. “How the hell is Thai food Christmas-y?”

“It can be,” she retorted, hands cupping her warm mug. “If it’s food you eat on Christmas, then it’s Christmas food.”

“That’s not how that works.”

“Oh no?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Ya gotta have the real deal stuff. The… the ham, sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, that nasty-ass cranberry jelly from a can—”

“I actually like that stuff.”

“’Course you do,” he said, looking over his shoulder again and smirking. It made Karen’s stomach tremble.

Or maybe that was the 2 cups of coffee on an empty stomach.

“Well I can’t make all that just for me,” she told him primly. “It would be a waste.” She arched an eyebrow at him when he turned to look at her again. Two can play that game.

She wondered if he’d catch her double meaning. She couldn’t make all that food for _just_ her… but if he stayed…

“What about the suit?” Frank asked, cracking a couple eggs into a bowl to scramble.

“Foggy’s working and then spending Christmas day with his girlfriend—”

“Suit’s gotta girl, huh? Good for him.”

“Marci. She’s… Well, Foggy likes her, so…”

Frank chuckled, a sound Karen still wasn’t used to hearing. “Not a fan, I take it.”

“As long as Foggy doesn’t ask me to be her new BFF, we’ll be fine.” Karen hopped up for her third cup of coffee, and found Frank there, a little too close too quickly.

His large hand covered the top of her mug. “Need somethin’ more than just that,” he said, graveled voice even lower. “Here.” He handed her a water glass and nodded to the sink.

Karen flattened her lips in a line. “Didn’t realize I needed a babysitter.”

“Gonna make yourself sick, all the coffee on an empty stomach.”

“Well maybe if someone hurried up with the food…”

Frank pegged her with an unyielding stare. “Indulge me. One glass of water.”

Karen’s shoulders stiffened but she took the water glass. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

She filled it in tense silence and chugged it down. Walking back over to where he stood, she made it a point to turn the glass upside down on the counter next to him before grabbing the handle of the coffee pot and pouring herself more.

Frank shook his head. “More stubborn than a mule,” he muttered, barely audible but Karen still heard it.

“Pot, meet kettle.”

He grunted, flipping the omelet in the pan.

Karen returned to her seat, aimlessly looking over the holiday sale ads as she drank her coffee defiantly.

A plate of food appeared under her chin and she lifted her head.

“Bon Appetite,” Frank said, holding out a fork for her.

“Thanks—Wait, where’s yours?”

“Not hungry,” he said, wiping his hands on a dish towel.

She thought he’d sit with her, but he walked around the kitchen island and into the living room, grabbing his jacket off the back of the couch. Karen watched, her stomach dropping. She’d run him off already, she’d irritated him into leaving, she’d—

“Where… where are you going?” Her voice sounded small, even to her own ears.

“Told you, y’can’t have Thai food for Christmas dinner. Just ain’t right,” Frank called, yanking his jacket on. “Bet if I hurry I can find a decent spread for us, even if it’s all picked over.”

Karen blinked. “You… So you’re…” She swallowed thickly.

“Be back in a little while, yeah?” He held her gaze for a moment before offering a smile. Jerking his chin at the plate, he added, “Better eat before it’s cold.”

Relief flooded her system as she nodded weakly. “Okay.”

“Don’t go anywhere,” he said as he headed for the door. “Hate to have to pick your lock with an arm full of groceries.”

Karen laughed, and he glanced over his shoulder just before closing the door behind him.

***

She heard him come back in as she was getting dressed after her shower. Heavy boots and the rustling of bags, a grunt as he nudged the door closed. She scurried to close her bedroom door, a towel being the only thing covering her. It probably wouldn’t have been in either of their best interests if she accidentally flashed him before noon.

“Be right out,” she called, seeing his silhouette move into the kitchen.

“Take your time.”

Quickly digging out a pair of leggings and an oversized cream-colored sweater, she scrambled to find a pair of underwear that wasn’t terribly lacy… Laundry day was fast approaching if all she could find were her ‘date night’ panties.

She dug through her drawer, suddenly and intensely aware of the man moving around her apartment.

 _Jesus Karen, get it together,_ she thought, grabbing her last plain black pair and a bra and pulling them on.

“You got a package,” Frank called, making her jump.

Frowning, Karen looked at the door as she finished dressing. “Huh?”

“Left by your mailbox, so I brought it up.” She listened to him pace across the living room. “Not very big…”

She opened her door, working a comb through her hair. “Does it say who it’s from?”

Frank shook his head, holding the box out for her. His eyes drifted down to where she brushed her damp hair, but his expression was neutral.

“Thanks,” she said, taking it and going to the couch to sit. “So, I see you were able to get more than just a couple cans of beef and bean soup, huh?”

“Yeah, didn’t make out too shabby.” Frank wandered back to the kitchen to continue unloading. “Even found a decent sized ham to bake.”

“Ooh, with brown sugar?”

He grunted a ‘yes’ and she smiled softly, folding her legs under her. Looking down at the box in her lap, she stopped, fingers trailing over the familiar lettering.

“Need scissors?”

She didn’t answer, hardly heard him if she was honest. She was too busy deciding if she even wanted to open it.

“Karen?”

“Hm?”

Frank was a little closer, holding a can of green beans, brow furrowing as he watched her. “What is it?”

“Oh… uh,” she faltered, glancing down at the box. “It’s… nothing.” She set the box aside on her coffee table. “So are you one of those ‘no one is allowed in the kitchen to help’ kinda cooks or is there room for two in there?”

“Why didn’t you open your package?” He asked, completely blowing passed her attempt to change the topic.

Karen bit her lip, shaking her head. “Don’t worry about it.”

Frank’s jaw ticked as he stared at her. He set the can on the counter and strode into the living room, sitting on the arm of her reading chair. He was staring her down, waiting for her to crack under the weight of his dark gaze.

“Really?” She scoffed. “It’s nothing, Frank, just drop it.”

She stood up, about to walk into the kitchen, when Frank grabbed her wrist. It was the first time he’d touched her since… Since the elevator.

Karen’s head whipped around, glare hot. “Frank.”

His only response was to lock eyes with her, thumb over her pulse point.

They stayed like that for what felt like ages until Karen yielded.

“It’s from my dad. And I don’t want to open it right now, nor do I want to talk about it, okay?” She looked to where Frank’s hand was still wrapped around her wrist. “Is that answer _satisfactory_ enough for you?”

Frank’s jaw ticked again but his gaze was softer. After a beat, he released her, and her skin was troublingly cold from the lack of touch. Karen didn’t waste any time walking away from him, but Frank didn’t move from his perch on the chair.

She got herself a glass of water just to busy herself, and stood at the sink to drink it.

“You… you can, y’know…” Frank said, voice deep and raspy. “Talk about it, I mean. If… if you want.”

Karen swallowed the last of her water and smacked her lips. “Nope.”

Sighing, Frank nodded once before standing up. “Alright.” It was barely loud enough to hear over the clink of her glass in the sink.

He went around the kitchen island, picking the can of green beans up. “Ya got any objections to slivered almonds?”

Karen turned, frowning at him. “Huh?”

“On the green beans,” he said, rolling the can in his palm. “Only way I really know how to make ‘em.”

The knot that was tightening in her chest loosened enough for Karen to breathe. The topic of her father was dropped… for now.

“No, not at all.” She shook her head. “You want some help?”

“Nah, I got it,” he said, pulling out all her pots and pans from her cabinets. “How about you play bartender though.”

Karen arched a brow, smirk playing at her lips. “Do what now?”

“Can’t have Christmas Eve dinner without a little holiday cheer,” he said, tone lighter. “Check that bag over there.” He nodded to the paper bag he hadn’t unpacked.

Karen grinned as she pulled out two bottles of wine—one red, one white—and a fifth of top shelf whiskey.

Lining them up on the counter, she said, “Merry Christmas indeed.”

***

Frank Castle was a fucking lightweight.

One glass of wine had him pink at the tips of his ears and apples of his cheeks. Two and he was smiling a lot easier, laughing a fraction louder, fine motor function not nearly as finessed.

Karen covered her mouth, suppressing a giggle as she watched him cook.

“That’s some strong shit,” he muttered, looking into his glass after another sip.

“You sure you don’t wanna eat something?”

“We’re gonna eat soon.”

“You gonna make it to ‘soon’?”

“I can hold my liquor, Karen.”

Smirking, she sipped her wine. “If you say so…”

She decided not to comment when she saw him nibble on the carrots he was cooking on the stove.

It was only three o’clock in the afternoon and they were both buzzed. Now this was a Christmas tradition Karen could get behind.

“We need some different music,” she said, jumping up from her bar stool to go pick a new Spotify station. She changed it from non-descript Christmas classics to a Rock Christmas station, in need of something with more pep.

“Y’really listen to this?” Frank asked, scrunching his nose as he tasted the sauce for the ham.

“Sure,” she said, turning. “And you don’t?”

“Can’t say I’ve listened to much of anything the last few months.”

The comment made her sad for reasons she wasn’t sober enough to really put together.

They chatted a little as he checked on the multiple dishes he had in the oven and as Frank drained his wine glass. She’d never thought she’d ever see Frank get tipsy… But then again, she never thought she’d be friends with the Punisher, of all people. Or having him cook her Christmas dinner. It was a holiday full of surprises.

The opening bars of Bruce Springsteen’s “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” filtered through her computer speakers and Karen smiled. It was one of her favorites. She glanced up to see Frank bobbing his head a little as he stirred the carrots.

“Fan of the Boss, huh?” She asked, grinning.

“Who isn’t?”

She saw the shift immediately. Frank’s shoulders going rigid, his back straightening, hand gripping the wooden spoon like a vice.

Incoherent mumbling got a little louder. “Can… can you turn that off?”

“What?”

“Turn it—turn it off? Or change… Just change the station?”

Karen frowned. “I thought—”

“Ple-please, Karen?” He didn’t turn around. He didn’t need to for her to know the tormented look in his eyes.

As quick as her inebriated fingers would allow, she turned the volume down and changed it back to some jazzy Christmas station. She stood there, leaning on the table, running her fingers through her hair as she exhaled slowly. Her heart was racing, like she’d just kicked a grenade away from them.

Maybe she had…

She waited until she could breathe normally before going back to her seat at the island, clutching her wine glass by the stem.

“My… my wife…” Frank faltered, clearing his throat. “Maria, she… For my birthday, she got us Springsteen tickets.”

Karen didn’t dare move an inch or make a sound.

“’Sposed to go the week after I got back,” he murmured, keeping his back to Karen. “We, uh… That didn’t…” He shook his head.

He didn’t need to finish. Karen knew.

She knew too well.

“I’m sorry, Frank,” she whispered.

He nodded jerkily, stirring the pot.

They listened to the new station—a little too much Michael Buble for Karen’s taste—in relative quiet.

Finally, Frank turned to face her. “I have a confession to make.”

Karen’s eyes widened.

“I can’t bake worth a damn,” Frank said. “So I bought the pie.”

Karen had to bite the inside of her cheek so she wouldn’t laugh. “I think I can forgive that.”

“Alright then.” The corner of his mouth twitched, and she felt a swell of relief in her chest.

Some memories of Maria Frank welcomed, and some tore him asunder, bringing his very being to a screeching halt. Karen understood that implicitly. And she was more than willing to bear witness to both-- to listen or to change the station.

It was the least she could do, Karen felt.

***

“You didn’t!”

“All over the house,” Karen laughed, fork bumping her plate. “I thought my mother was going to have a heart attack.”

“Who was watching you?” Frank leaned on his forearm, eyes sparkling. “Was _anyone_ watching you?”

“The babysitter was trying to get my brother to stop coloring on the walls.”

“You were terrors, both of you,” Frank told her, shaking his head and grinning.

“I thought it would be funny!”

“Cutting a hole in the flour bag and tying it to the dog is _not_ funny, trust me.”

“It was a _little_ funny,” Karen giggled, sipping her wine. “Besides I was 5!”

Frank took a bite of ham and shook his head again. “Poor Sparky…”

“I think he was more upset he had to have 2 baths just to get all the flour out of his fur.” Karen speared a carrot and gestured to Frank with it. “Alright, your turn. Worst childhood antic.”

“Oh man…” He chuckled, setting his utensils down and rubbing his right hand over his left fist. “Uh… Let’s see…” Tilting his head, he considered her a moment before nodding. “Alright. The time I filled the washer with bubble bath instead of laundry detergent.”

Karen nearly choked on her food. “Oh god!”

“I was trying to help,” he said, grin splitting his face apart. “I didn’t know they were different. Soap is soap, right?”

“No, no they’re not,” Karen shook her head and giggled.

“Yeah, well, I figured that out pretty damn quick.” He hid his face a little with his hands. “The laundry room is filling with bubbles and I’m, shit, I’m freakin’ out, right? I’m 8, standing there in wet socks and slippery from all the soap, and I’m about 3 seconds from losin’ my shit, and that’s when my mom comes in the house.”

“Uh oh…”

Frank shook his head, leaning back in his chair. “Ma… She walks in, hears the machine going berserk, calls for me, and when she comes around the corner and sees the gigantic mess I’ve made she…” He chuckles, hands falling to the tops of his thighs. “She just bursts out laughing.”

“What?”

“She’s doubled over, she’s cracking up so hard. And I’m standing there—probably with bubbles comin’ outta my ears—and I just…” He ducks his head, still grinning but obviously a little embarrassed. “I just start wailing.”

Karen covered her mouth, her ‘aww’ still very much audible.

“I… I guess I was just so overwhelmed, I just had a meltdown. And Ma, she just laughed even harder.”

“You poor thing.”

“She said I looked like the angriest bubble monster,” Frank commented, picking up his wine. “Looking back… I don’t—I can’t even remember half of it, or how we got it all cleaned up. But I swear, to this day, I remember the feeling of wet socks and soap bubbles up to my little bare arms.”

“Your mom wasn’t angry?”

Frank shook his head, swallowing the last of the wine in his glass. “Nah, she was… She took things in stride, ya know? A little bubble bath in the machine wasn’t gonna upend her.”

“And you were trying to help…” Karen added, smiling over her glass.

Mumbling in agreement, Frank tucked his chin. “I didn’t touch that washer again until high school.”

Karen laughed, enjoying how easy it was to laugh now. Sure, the wine helped, but it was more than that. It felt important to laugh with Frank. To embrace the goodness, the levity, because they both knew that things could change in an instant. And that they most likely would.

“You liked the yams?” Frank asked, nodding to Karen’s plate.

She looked down to the clearly vacant section. “They were amazing.”

“There’s more,” he murmured.

“We have to have left overs for tomorrow,” she countered.

“Ah, right,” Frank said, lifting his head. “You save room for pie?”

“There’s always room for pie.”

“Atta girl.”

Their knees bumped as he got up from the table to fetch the store-bought pumpkin pie, and at the same time the legs of his chair scraped sharply on the linoleum. She tried to hide it, but Karen flinched. Hard.

Frank hesitated at her shoulder, holding both of their empty plates, but Karen couldn’t bring herself to look up at him. She tilted her face away, pretending to stare at the Christmas tree, until he huffed and walked into the kitchen.

The plates clattered in the sink and she jumped again, but that time she was pretty sure he didn’t see.

Her skin crawled, sensing the impending questions about to pour from Frank’s mouth, and she dodged with all the agility of a scared rabbit.

“You want coffee with your pie?” She asked, already standing and making her way to the coffee maker.

Frank turned from where he was cutting a thick slice and watched her a moment before humming in agreement. As he finished serving, she made them a pot and leaned against the counter, listening to the gurgling noises.

“We should watch a movie or something,” she told him as he handed her a dessert plate. “You got a favorite?”

Frank shook his head, fork already diving into the hunk of orange. “Pick whatever you want,” he mumbled around the food in his mouth.

Biting her lip, Karen wandered into her living room, grabbing the remote from the coffee table and turning the tv on. She channel-surfed for a minute before finding A Christmas Story on a cable channel, already about 10 minutes in.

“This okay?” She asked without looking at him.

Frank grunted what sounded close to a ‘yes’, and plopped himself down on the end of the sofa. Going back for coffee for the two of them, Karen came back and handed out a mug to Frank.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, taking it from her.

Karen laughed softly at the title. “No need to be formal, Frank,” she said, curling up on her end of the couch. “You’ve seen me in my PJs now. We’re beyond ‘ma’am’.”

“Dunno about that,” he said, smirking as he took another bite. “Decaf?”

She shook her head, watching the television. “Regular.”

Frank’s silence felt heavy, but she didn’t react, didn’t comment. She stared so hard at Ralphie’s face on her screen she was certain she’d memorize every freckle the kid had. She would not budge.

Karen finished her pie and took their plates to the kitchen and refilled her coffee. She offered to do the same for Frank, but he declined.

“You plannin’ on stayin’ up to see Santa?” He asked after her second cup.

She pulled her mug away from her lips. “Huh?”

“Gonna be up all night drinkin’ that,” he commented, nodding to her coffee.

“Says the guy who lived on the stuff.”

His response was a quiet hum followed by turning to stare at the tv once more, dropping the topic. They watched the movie, chuckling lightly and steadily relaxing back into the way they’d been during dinner.

When Karen shivered slightly, Frank pulled the throw off the back of the sofa and unfolded it, tossing it over her knees without a word. She whispered a thank-you, tugging it higher around her waist and leaning back against the cushions.

A Christmas Story ended, and Karen found them another to watch—Frank vetoed Miracle on 34th Street so she put it on Elf.

“Never seen this one,” Frank commented, threading his fingers together behind his head, spreading his elbows wide.

“What? You’ve never seen Elf?”

“I was a little busy, Karen,” he retorted, rolling his eyes. “Didn’t have time to see every bad movie—”

“Okay well that’s your first mistake there,” she cut in. “Elf is not bad. It’s a classic.”

“That right?”

“Mm-hm,” she nodded, propping her head up on a pillow. “Just watch, you’ll see.”

Despite chugging nearly a full pot of coffee, Karen’s eyelids drooped and she caught herself drifting off to sleep during several scenes. She blinked, glancing over at Frank, but he didn’t seem to notice. Either that or he was purposefully keeping his comments to himself.

Just before Buddy saved Santa’s sleigh, Karen fell asleep with her head at an awkward angle and the throw blanket bunched around her.

In those few moments though, the noise came back—screeching, exploding metal. People yelling. The taste of blood in her mouth.

Different memories, different events, all patchworking together.

She jerked awake, bolting up from the pillow and ramming her foot into the coffee table.

“Shit,” she cursed, bending to rub the soreness.

Frank was next to her again, too close, too suddenly. His hand was on the middle of her back, the heat and weight of it grounding her.

“Hey, hey, you alright?” His voice was soft, a little smoother like cigar smoke.

She nodded, wincing. “Fine. Just… clumsy.”

“You want some ice?”

“No, no, I’m okay,” she told him. “Promise.”

She caught his slight nod from the corner of her eye and offered him a smile. “See? All better,” she said, leaning back.

He grunted, but didn’t say much else, and they continued to watch the end of the movie. The next one up was A Charlie Brown Christmas, and even Frank nodded off during that one a couple of times. He blamed the music—too mellow.

Karen glanced over at the clock and sighed. 2am.

“Guess Santa skipped us this year,” she joked.

“I’m shocked,” Frank murmured, voice rough from exhaustion. “I’ve been a very good boy.”

Karen laughed, and he tilted his head to look at her, grinning slightly.

Reluctantly, she withdrew from the blanket and stood up. “I guess I’ll let you get some sleep,” she told him, dropping the throw back on the cushions.

“Karen…”

“G’night Frank,” she said, avoiding the topic once again.

His voice was quiet as he said, “Merry Christmas, Karen,” just before she closed her bedroom door.

***

Karen rolled onto her side, staring at the sliver of dawn outside her bedroom window.

She slept—she was sure she had—but given how her whole body ached, how unbelievably exhausted she still felt, she didn’t think it was very good sleep.

The nightmares still plagued her. They were a constant now, just something to accept. Taxes and death and all that.

She watched as the faint blue light turned pink, then orange, then yellow.

“Merry Christmas,” she whispered to herself, hugging a pillow to her chest.

Through her door she heard the shower turn on and the clinking from the rod as the curtain moved. She thought about going out, asking Frank if he needed anything, getting him a couple towels and a wash cloth, but she realized he’d probably found all of that already if he was turning on the water.

She opted for 5 more minutes in bed followed by getting up to make coffee strong enough to strip paint. She didn’t think Frank would complain.

Karen was on her second cup when Frank came out of the bathroom, redressed and toweling his hair dry.

“Mornin’,” he said as soon as he saw her. “Hope you don’t mind, I—”

“No, no, not at all,” she told him. “I should have offered. You’re welcome to anything here.”

The small smile threatening to curve his lips made Karen blush and duck her head.

“Do you… need any extra clothes or anything?” She asked. “Not that I have a lot of men’s clothing lying around… And I don’t think yoga pants are really your style.”

Frank’s chuckle was deep, a little rough still from sleep. “I had a change of clothes in my pack.”

“Sure, right.” She nodded, lifting her mug. “I, uh, I made coffee.”

He glanced passed her to the coffee maker. “Smells strong.”

“It is.” She smiled but even to her it felt sharp.

Folding the towel in his hands, Frank wandered over to pour a cup. Something was different between them… Her stomach had taken to trembling when he looked at her. He was smiling more frequently. Her hands shook slightly when he was close. His gaze was warmer, softer. She didn’t quite feel comfortable in her own body, like she was a teenager again.

Inhaling deeply, she gulped her coffee and forced herself to remain still and calm, and to _get a grip._

“Breakfast?”

His voice brought her head around. “Hm—uh, yeah.” She nodded so fast her neck popped. “Whatever you want.”

“Want me to do something with these left overs?”

“Those are for later,” she told him, reaching to playfully swat him away from the Tupperware containers. Frank chuckled and tilted his head.

“Alright, alright, eggs it is,” he said, pulling the carton from the shelf.

They fell into their familiar routine—Frank acting as chef while Karen sat on one of her stools, flipping through the paper and drinking coffee.

“You sure are giving my stove a work out,” Karen commented, reading the last bit of an article. “It hasn’t been used this much since I moved in.”

“That’s just depressing.”

Karen snorted. “You eat MREs and cold cuts, you can’t judge me.”

“I had an excuse,” Frank said, glancing over his shoulder. “But you?”

Looking up, she pegged him with a stare and rolled her eyes. That got him to laugh, which was worth the antagonizing.

“Merry Christmas, by the way,” he told her as he flipped the eggs in the pan.

She smiled. “Merry Christmas.”

“Did… d’ya sleep alright?” He asked, poking the food with the spatula.

Karen took a sip of coffee and hummed. “Fine. You?”

“Oh yeah, dreamt of sugar plums and all that shit.”

Her laugh caught her by surprise. Covering her mouth, she muffled herself.

Frank turned, carrying a plate of fried eggs and toast. “Don’t on my account.”

“Huh?”

“Been in a basement with a neurotic spook for months,” he started. “Hearing someone’s… Hearing you laugh is… it’s nice.” He faltered as he handed her the food. “Feels nice. Normal.”

The confession slammed between her ribs, nestling in tight.

“Oh,” was all she could say before he turned away to get his own food.

They were quiet for a long while, eating and drinking their coffee, occasionally turning to look at the Christmas tree or skim sections of the paper.

“I forgot this part,” Frank murmured from behind his mug. “Christmas morning…”

Karen’s chest ached as images of what Frank’s old life must have been like, how Christmas must have been for him, with Lisa and Frank Jr, flooded her mind.

“I… I didn’t get a lot of them… With the kids. Y’know?” He sniffed, nose scrunching before he took another sip of coffee. “Deployments. Training. Lisa’s first Christmas… I was in a tent in the desert. Got pictures though. Lots of pictures. When… when Frankie was, God, 4? 5? We, uh… We did it up right. Full blown Hallmark Christmas. Big tree, family came over. We… There was tons of food, and…” He chuckled to himself. “So much fuckin’ wrapping paper you couldn’t see the carpet underneath.”

Karen had gotten accustomed to his reminiscences tumbling out, a little broken, a little messy, stalled in parts, faded and unsure in others, but still very Frank. Each word curled up in her lap, held there to be cherished by someone else who understood.

“Did… did you have a favorite Christmas tradition?” She asked softly, not wanting to push. His memory was like fractured glass—if you pressed the wrong spot, it all came crashing down.

Frank glanced into his mug. “I was hopin’ you’d indulge me a little,” he said quietly. “Tell me somethin’ about yours? You have a favorite?”

“As a kid?”

He shrugged, muscled shoulders shifting under black fabric. “Sure.”

Karen leaned forward on her elbows. “Well… We’d usually go to my Grandmother’s,” she started. “She lived outside of Burlington, so we’d all pile in the car and drive down to see her. And my mom would always fight with the radio to get a good Christmas music station, even though we had CDs.” She smiled, moving her hands as she talked. “We’d get there, and it was just like out of a Thomas Kinkade painting, you know? Wintry and the windows all lit up, wreaths on the doors, and you could see the tree from the street.”

She glanced at him and laughed to herself. “Probably sounds cliché, right?”

Frank shook his head. “Nah, it sounds nice.”

“It was,” she agreed, nodding. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she continued. “There were presents all over the living room, but we had to wait until after we ate to open them. It was torture.”

“D’you do the Santa thing? Opening gifts in your PJs?”

“We always had Santa and stockings at our house,” she said. “Mom would make waffles while we tore into our new toys.”

Frank nodded, seeming to enjoy her story. But he watched her like he was waiting for something, searching for something between her words.

Karen kept talking-- describing her family Christmases, her cousins running around making a mess, building snowmen while the adults finished cooking, taking their Santa-delivered toys out to play…

“Who’s ‘we’?” Frank asked, cutting in on her last sentence.

“Oh, uh, me and my cousins, and my brother.” She punctuated it with a long swallow of coffee.

“Did your dad cook?” Frank asked, catching her off guard. “He in the kitchen or was someone out there watchin’ you?”

Karen struggled to laugh through her bewilderment. “We were old enough to play by ourselves,” she said, getting up for more coffee. “It was Vermont. Unless there was a moose nearby, we were safe.”

Frank grunted, clearly feeling the urge to judge. Overprotective to a fault. Karen smiled as she brought the coffee pot over and topped him off.

“It was a nice way to spend Christmas. I… I miss it sometimes,” she told him. “But I love holidays here too.”

“Amid the garbage and the slush, huh?” Frank arched an eyebrow, teasing her.

“It’s not all bad.” Karen sat down, facing him fully. “There’s Rockefeller center—”

“Tourist trap.”

“And Central Park—”

“Crowded.”

“And all the stores and their window displays.”

 He hummed. “Yeah, alright. Those are kinda nice.”

“So you agree.”

The curve of his lip over his coffee cup made Karen want to giggle. She felt buzzed and she was stone cold sober.

After a moment, Frank’s gaze darted over her shoulder to the Christmas tree. “Y’gunna open your gifts?”

“Don’t have any.”

“Says who?”

Karen frowned at him. “What are you…?” She twisted, looking behind her. She couldn’t see anything from where she sat, so she stood up, wandering over to the living room. Under the tree was a lone wrapped present—green paper and red ribbon shining under the twinkle lights. Karen blinked.

“Frank…” she whispered, emotion building in her throat.

“It’s not much,” he said. “Just something to… to say thanks.”

“Thanks? For… what?”

He was silent as he watched her pick up the gift. She shook the box gently, hearing the contents rattle.

“I didn’t get you anything,” she said it a little teasingly, but the beginnings of guilt churned in her stomach.

Frank shook his head. “Nah, don’t need anything. Shit, you kept me from sleepin’ in a rathole apartment for a few nights. That’s gift enough.”

Glancing down at the tag— her name written in his tight, neat script—she took a breath.

“Go on,” he urged. “Open it.”

Sitting on the edge of the couch, she balanced the box on her knees, pulling the ribbon off and tearing at the paper. She read part of the label printed on the cardboard and her brows shot up in delighted surprise.

“You got me bullets?” She laughed, looking up.

Standing, Frank started towards her. “Figured you’ve been going to the range a lot—your aim is too good to say you don’t practice.”

“I practice,” she confirmed with pride.

“Thought maybe I’d get you something to help practice with.”

Smiling, she finished unwrapping the box and opened the lid, finger running over the shells. “No one else would ever think to get me ammunition for Christmas.”

“Glad I’m not someone else then,” he told her, tucking his hand in his pocket and sipping his coffee.

“Me too.” She said it quickly, earnestly, and with enough warmth to heat up her own cheeks.

Frank took a few more steps into the living room, hovering near the end of the sofa. “You… you gonna open your other one?”

“You got me something _else?_ ”

He shook his head. “Meant the one from yesterday.” He paused, waiting for her to catch on. “Said it was from your dad…”

Karen’s face fell. “Oh. No, I’m not.”

“Karen…”

“I don’t want to open it, Frank.” She stood up, placing the box of bullets on her coffee table and going to brush passed him.

“Why?” Frank tracked her. “Hey, hey, talk to me. Why--?”

“Because I already know what it is,” she snapped, pegging him with a hard stare. “I already know, and I don’t want to be upset on Christmas, so…” Pushing her hair out of her face, she turned to walk away.

“What’s the deal with your dad, huh?” He asked, tilting his head, eyeing her. “Does he… Is he bothering you? Did… Karen, did he _do_ something to you?”

So much was implied in the question, she didn’t know where to start, and her frustration came out as a bitter barking laugh.

“Depends on what you mean.”

Frank was eerily quiet, watching her. The violent urges always simmering under Frank’s surface began to bleed into his features, the rims of his irises, morphing him into The Punisher right in front of her.

“No, Frank. He didn’t _do_ something to me… not like you’re thinking.” She fully exhaled with relief as his darkness faded, _Frank_ coming back little by little.

“Then what? What’s the deal?” He asked, jaw working.

She planted her hands on her hips. “Why are you so concerned about this, Frank?”

“Because…” He mumbled incoherently for a moment before clearing his throat and saying louder, “I don’t… I don’t like seeing you upset.”

She didn’t mean to scoff, but the harsh sound erupted from her anyway. “Since when?”

“Excuse me?”

“You know what, this has nothing to do with me being upset.” She gestured to him, emphasizing her words. “You just don’t like not knowing something—It’s driving you nuts that I’m keeping something from you, so you’re trying every tactic you can to get me to spill my guts.” She shook her head, anger beginning to boil. “This isn’t empathy, it’s an interrogation.”

“Hey, that’s not—Look, I _am_ concerned, okay? Don’t tell me I’m not—”

“Then why does it have to be on _your_ schedule, Frank? Why can’t you just accept I’m not ready to talk about it?”

He set his mug down on the coffee table next to her box of bullets. “’Cause it has nothin’ to do with being ready—”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“C’mon, Karen, you really want me to say it?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Karen,” he said her name almost like he was chastising her. “C’mon… You— I mean, I’m not an expert but—”

She scowled at him. “Spit it out, Frank.”

“You… You’re not doing well, Karen.”

The laugh that erupted from her was like ice shattering on concrete.

“Oh, that’s fucking rich,” she snapped. “ _You’re_ lecturing me now, is that it?”

“’Course not,” Frank said, shaking his head. “You know I’m not, I’m—Look, this shit with your dad, whatever it is, it’s just one part, okay? What you went through… The hotel with Lewis… losing Murdock—”

“Don’t,” she warned sharply.

He didn’t even blink. “All the other shit you’ve gone through. You don’t have to carry all that alone.”

“Wow, a month of therapy and you’re _Dr. Castle_ now, huh?”

She regretted it the moment she said it. Frank needed therapy, needed to connect with other people, needed to talk about his trauma. She was proud of him. But he had his calloused, unclean fingers pressed against a vein she was barely able to keep closed on a good day, and that pain had to go somewhere.

Frank’s lip curled, a little too vicious to be a sneer. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what, Frank?”

“This, this backbiting bullshit. This ain’t you.”

“Oh yeah?” She snapped. “And what if it is?”

He shook his head, starting to wave her off, when she grabbed him by the bicep, yanking him back.

“What if it is, Frank?” Wide blue eyes locked on his nearly obsidian gaze. “What if this is me now?”

“So you—You wanna spend your life runnin’ on coffee and no sleep, diggin’ that hole deeper for yourself?”

“Stop! Stop presuming to know me, Frank! You weren’t here, you don’t—”

“I watched you every night through that goddamn window, you think I didn’t see you??”

His admission brought Karen’s thoughts to a halt. “You… what?” She breathed.

Frank started to shake his head, looking to the floor. “I… nothing, I just…”

“ _Goddamn it_ Frank, for once just—”

“Alright, yeah,” he interrupted. “Yeah, okay, I watched you. I didn’t… It wasn’t like that. I just… I’d walk by every night, wait to see you in the widow, see that you were okay. For a while, you were… I dunno, it looked like you were okay. But then… That light stayed on longer. I’d see you still movin’ around. Sometimes you’d be up at 4am—”

Karen gaped, unsure if she should be horrified.

“You were putting out a story in every issue of the Bulletin. You were doing interviews. But you weren’t even fuckin’ sleeping,” he said, sandpapery voice an octave lower. “Then, I’m staying here, and I’m seeing… I mean, Jesus, the last 2 nights… all fuckin’ night you’re tossing and turning—”

“What?”

“You talk in your sleep, Karen, y’think I wouldn’t hear you? You’re 5 feet away.”

“I didn’t…” She released him, backing up half a step. “I didn’t know I…” Her hand went to her mouth, fingers trembling against her chin.

Frank took half a step forward. “Look, I’m… I’m not…” He exhaled sharply through his nose. “Just… Who’s Kevin?”

Karen’s breath caught in her throat so painfully tears welled in her eyes.

“Y-you kept saying his name, over and over, you were crying it…” Frank’s voice cracked. “Is he… He important to you?”

Hand clutching her mouth, she tried to suck down air and couldn’t. She stepped around Frank, trying to get some space, some footing, _something._

“Hey, Karen… hey…”

She waved him off, still battling the sobs lodged in her windpipe.

“I can’t…” She mumbled finally, shaking her head. “I can’t talk about this right now.”

She spun, marching into her bedroom. Finding her sturdy boots and thick socks, she yanked them on before grabbing her winter coat off the hook near her door. When she emerged, Frank was standing there, looking at her with concerned bewilderment.

“Hey, hey, wait, hold on,” he started, trailing after her as she searched for her purse.

“I’m going for a walk.”

“Karen—”

“Stop it,” she nearly screamed. Two tears streamed down her face as she blinked up at him. “Leave me alone, Frank!”

“I… Just—Please, Karen…"

She shook her head. “I gotta go.”

She could hear him call her name again, but the slamming of her apartment door cut off the rest of his sentence entirely.


	3. Part Three: Hold me til I fall asleep, Everything reminding me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The angstiest fluff you ever did saw.  
> (also Karen and Frank get drunk and watch Christmas movies)

Karen had lapped Hell’s Kitchen twice when the snow started falling harder and her fingers were completely numb even in her pockets. Everything around her was grey and white, and the dim light sent the instinctual signal to her brain that it was time to go home—like a child out past dusk, watching the street lights come on and knowing her mom would be calling for her.

The tune to a song she hadn’t thought of since Frank showed up at her apartment rang in her head.

_I feel violent… Like I'm dying… I feel broken…_

“Fuck,” she muttered, covering her face with her icy hands.

She stood on the street corner, with snow falling into the tops of her boots and down the collar of her coat, soaking into her hair she’d forgotten to cover with a hat. The roads were practically empty, only a couple pedestrians trudging through on the other side of the street breaking up the deafening silence that surrounded her.

 _You’re gonna break down, and no one is gonna even know why,_ that voice warned again, louder than before. _No one will understand what happened. No one will know why. No one will care._

Karen cursed under her breath, glaring up at the oppressive cloud cover. Snowflakes fell on her cheeks and lips, stinging her skin.

She started walking again, just to warm up.

 _You’re breaking apart and you can’t even put up a fight,_ the voice told her as she rounded a corner. _You’re not even trying._

Karen frowned. She was certain that was a lie. She was trying, she was putting up a fight. But how she battled her demons wasn’t nearly as bloody and loud as how someone like Frank battled his. What was she supposed to do, pick up a gun and kill the thing that hurt her?

She’d just be aiming it at herself.

_I feel violent… Like I'm dying… I feel broken…_

“Shut up, shut up, shut. Up,” she growled to herself, pushing her wet hair back from her face.

Looking up, she saw the doorway to her apartment building and she cursed again. Even without instruction, her feet brought her back.

“Fuck this,” she muttered, stomping up to her door and shoving inside. Anger propelled her up the 3 flights of stairs, down the hall, and into the apartment.

Her door slammed behind her, snow melting off her boots and coat, dripping onto the floor as she strode inside.

“Not all of us can fight to fix ourselves like you, Frank,” she yelled, barely registering where he sat on the chair in her living room, elbows pinned to the tops of his thighs, fists closed in front of his face.

Karen struggled to yank her heavy coat off, but she managed, dropping it to the floor. “Not all of us find comfort in murdering the things that broke us. And even if we did, we can’t.”

“Karen—”

“Shut up,” she snapped, pointing at him. “You wanted me to tell you? You wanted to see the wound I’ve been covering?”

She stormed over to the coffee table, snatching up the box she hadn’t opened and tearing into it with her nails. Her index nail broke, bled on the cardboard, and she didn’t even flinch. Opening it, she pulled away the bubble wrap and plastic and shoved the box into Frank’s hands.

“Here, here’s your fucking answer,” she snarled, glaring down at him. “It’s a photo of my brother.”

Frank held the box, looking from her face to the contents.

“My brother who I killed.” Karen said it with a force akin to prying open Frank’s jaws and stuffing the words down his throat.

She gave him a beat to take that in before continuing.

“I killed him, Frank. And every year since I left home, my father sends me mementos. He says it’s because he thinks I’d want them, but I know it’s because he blames me and doesn’t want me to forget, and you know what? I agree. I did it. I caused the accident that killed Kevin— that’s his name. Was. His name _was_ Kevin. He was my baby brother and I ended his life, and that’s just the _start_ of the shit I’ve been carrying since I was 19 years old.”

Frank was stone-still, watching her. His dark gaze followed her every movement.

“See, you think I’m not talking about it to _spare_ you, to grin and bear it just like every other woman on the planet, but the truth is, Frank, I’m not talking about it to spare _myself._ ” She pointed to herself, glaring at him. “’Cause I know once those flood gates open, that’s it, I’m done for, and I _cannot_ handle falling apart right now, when there is _literally_ no one around to bury my pieces.” She swallowed, locking eyes with him. “Because it wouldn’t be a clean-up, Frank. It would be a funeral.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked so severely it cast a shadow along his cheek.

Karen pushed her damp hair away from her face. “Kevin, Ben, Matt… The list goes on—Everyone I love _dies_ , Frank. Everyone! They die or they wish me dead, and that’s just how it goes. That’s the shit I can’t wash off in the sink. I can’t put a few bullet holes in that knowledge and sleep better at night, it doesn’t work that way. And spilling my guts over a cup of coffee is the _last_ thing I need.”

“Karen…”

“Stop it,” she yelled, voice cracking. “Don’t you get it? If I let you in, Frank, you’re gonna end up just like the rest of them!”

Frank stood up, gently placing the box and the photo down on the coffee table. “Hey, Karen…”

“I hoped you were dead,” she told him abruptly, vision blurring with tears. “I wished for it. Cuz that would mean for once someone I cared about died and it had nothing to do with me.” She laughed without humor. “Like breaking a curse or something…” Tears fell from her lashes. “And then there you were. Alive. And I knew…”

Frank stepped closer. “Shh shh… hey…”

“You’re next,” she sobbed. “Dead or hating me. That’s how this story ends.”

“Hey, look at me,” he murmured. “Karen, look at me. That’s not how this ends. That- That’s not how _we_ end.”

“I’m broken, Frank. There’s something… _wrong_ with me. _I’m_ wrong.”

“Shh, shh, stop, no you’re not—” He took a step closer, starting to reach for her. “Listen, there’s nothing—You’re not broken, Karen.”

She tried to breathe and it came out as a pained sob. “I killed someone.”

Frank pulled up short.

“I unloaded a clip in him, and I hid the evidence. I tossed the gun in the river, I… I murdered someone. And the thing is…” She looked at him, tears falling down her face. “I know it was wrong. It fucked me up, in ways I can’t even... But I’m not sorry I did it. I had nightmares about it, but never once were they about the guilt. They were about getting caught.”

Wiping her face, Karen started to pace away from him.

“That night in the hospital… When you went after Grotto, you know what my first thought was when I saw you coming down the hallway?” She turned, locking her teary gaze on him. “I thought ‘shit, he’s here for me.’” She coughed out a laugh. “I even told Matt I thought I was a magnet for trouble… I didn’t tell him why though. And I swore I’d never tell anyone. But that night, I saw your shadow, and I felt it in my bones. And then you… You said, ‘you were safe,’ that you only went after people who deserved it, and I was screaming in my head ‘what if I do?? What if I deserve it??’ Because… Because bad people kill and don’t feel guilty. And I don’t feel guilty, so—”

Frank took several steps forward, almost rushing her. “Listen to me— Karen,” he said, graveled voice even rougher. “You… You’re nothing like the shit I put down in the street. You? You’re… There’s no way you’re the same.”

“And how are you so sure, Frank?”

He mumbled for a split second before saying, “Cuz… I know, okay, I just know. I know it like I know the way to line up a shot, I feel it, and you? You’re not even close to my crosshairs. Y-you’re not some shitbag criminal, Karen.”

“That doesn’t make me good—”

“Fuck ‘good’, okay? There’s no such thing as good or evil or- or any of that shit, alright? It’s all fairytale bullshit. What, d’ya hunt that guy down for the thrill of it?”

“Of course not,” she snapped, offended.

“’Course you didn’t, that’s not you, right? You didn’t kill him cuz you wanted to, you didn’t want a taste, you were defending yourself, yeah?”

Karen was silent, chewing her lips until she was certain it would bleed.

“You… You did what you had to, whatever the circumstances, right?” Frank ducked his head, forcing her to make eye contact. “You kept yourself alive.”

“At the cost of another—”

“Fuck that, alright? Fuck that ‘violence isn’t the answer’ bullshit you’ve been spoon fed since diapers. You kept yourself alive, and you know what, even if I’d known about it—If I’d found out what you’d done before I came after Grotto, my aim still wouldn’t’ve been on you. Ever. You got that?”

The wailing storm inside Karen’s chest, the one raging since she woke up to find her co-workers dead body in her apartment, finally… finally started to calm.

“You are not the same,” Frank continued, lowering his voice to a soothing tone. “And you—You’re not cursed, Karen. Maybe… Yeah, maybe you’re broken, but not the way you think. You’re not like me. You… You’re just hurting, and you deserve…”

“What do I deserve, Frank?”

“To be seen.” He said it quietly. Firmly. Like a plain and exact truth Karen was simply unaware of.

Something inside Karen’s ribcage snapped in half. Cracked wide open, contents spilling out, tumbling down her entire body until she was shaking. Covering her face, fresh tears poured down her cheeks and into her palms.

She didn’t know her knees had given out until Frank’s arms were around her, hoisting her back up with a grunt. But she couldn’t hold herself up, couldn’t even look at him. Her forehead pressed against his chest as she muffled her sobs.

“Hey, shh, shh…” His hand was at the back of her head, petting gently. “Shh, it’s alright… Hey… Shh…”

She was broken. Broken and hurting and exhausted from the pain.

But this was her remaking.

And she had someone to bear witness.

***

Her cheek was raw from rubbing against fabric. But she couldn’t bring herself to move.

Frank’s hand continued to rub her shoulders, reaching up to her hair to smooth it down the back of her head, then to her neck, and back again. A slow, calming pattern he’d started after moving them to the sofa, arranging them so that she was propped up against his chest, her knees almost to her chin they were tucked so close.

That was over an hour ago. She hadn’t stopped crying since it all began. No noise, but the tears didn’t stop. Frank’s shirt was soaked through, but he didn’t complain, not once.

Karen sniffed, adjusting her cheek against him, and she felt Frank look down at the top of her head.

“You… you want somethin’ to drink?”

She felt him ask it more than heard him. His voice rumbled like thunder in his chest.

Karen shook her head faintly.

“Alright,” he said, stroking the back of her head. “You just let me know if you change your mind.”

They stayed like that for God knows how much longer, with Karen silently grieving and Frank keeping her together with weapons-calloused fingers, pinning her to that moment with each touch.

“Some Christmas, huh?” She said when she found her voice again.

Frank’s shoulder shifted under her—the only indication he was sore.

“Nah, could be worse,” he murmured, the vibration buzzing against her ear. “Had worse, actually. This? This ain’t bad.”

Karen’s eyes drifted closed, giving her tired sight a much-needed break.

“I’m… I’m glad you were here,” she whispered against his shirt. “I’m glad it was you. Foggy would have tried to have me committed.”

Frank chuckled, and she felt his abdomen flex with the movement. “Suit woulda had a helluva time with that.”

She swallowed, tilting her head, ear pressing right over his heart. “I… I think Ellison knew something was… wrong.” She bit her lip. “At least knew I was running on fumes.”

“Good to know the man’s observant.”

“Maybe too observant.” She opened her eyes, focusing on the nearest branch of her Christmas tree. “He kept making connections. Kept asking me if I knew you were alive…”

Frank’s hand stilled at the nape of her neck. “Did… Did you…”

“No, God no.” She shook her head against him and his fingers twitched in her hair. “I’d never.”

“Well… Technically, I’m a free man now…” He grunted softly, catching himself. “Well, Pete Castiglione is.”

“Who?”

“My alias.”

For the first time since 9:30 that morning, Karen laughed. “You chose _Pete Castiglione_ as your alias?”

His arm tightened around her a fraction. “What’s wrong with Pete?”

“You’re not a Pete.”

“Oh no?” He chuckled, and it made Karen flush. “Then what am I?”

“You’re… you’re Frank.”

“Not to the rest of the world I’m not.”

Karen grumbled. “So what am I supposed to call you?”

His palm was wide and warm between her shoulder blades. “You can call me whatever you want.”

The rich, nearly teasing tone in his voice curled around her, making her want to shiver. She held back though.

“I’ll compromise,” she said. “I’ll call you Pete if we’re in public—”

“Mhm hmm.”

“—And Frank when we’re not.”

“Could get confusing,” he murmured, fingers toying with a lock of her hair—a change in the pattern. “Sure you don’t just wanna go with--?”

“Nope. You’re still Frank to me.”

He grunted but it wasn’t harsh. More surprised, if she had to guess.

“What if we’re on the phone?” He asked, teasing her lightly.

Karen smirked. “Guess it depends on if I’m in public.”

“Hm. Notes?”

“Can other people get ahold of them?”

“Maybe.”

“Then go with Pete.”

His hand stilled on the back of her head, tip of his pinky grazing the shell of her ear. “What if I send you something?”

“Sounds ominous.”

“Stop it, y’know what I mean. Flowers or something.”

Karen’s eyebrow arched. “You plan on sending me flowers?”

“Never know. The roses I got you aren’t lookin’ like they’ll last the winter.”

“Flowers apparently need water _and_ sunlight to survive. Who knew.”

Frank’s thumb stroked her neck as it trailed down to her shoulders. “Stick ‘em in the window then.”

“You said specifically to put them up there if I had something for you,” she argued gently. “Seeing as I don’t…”

“Yeah, but I’m here now.”

“What about after?”

Frank’s finger tips dug into her back just firmly enough for her to notice. “I’m here,” he repeated, his voice back to that smoky cigar smoothness.

Karen couldn’t hide her shiver that time.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“Okay.”

They were quiet for a long time before Karen shifted against his chest. “Frank?”

“Hm?”

“I know what I want.”

His hand stalled, fingers catching in the hair at the crown of her head.

She licked her lips, glancing up until she saw a patch of skin at his jawline.

“What’s that?” He asked.

“You can say no, if you want… but…”

“Karen?”

She took a breath. “I wanna get so fucking drunk.”

His laugh reverberated through her whole torso and she couldn’t help but giggle.

“Yes ma’am.”

***

“Wait, wait, wait,” Karen exclaimed, lurching forward. “Okay, okay, hold on.”

“’S’not gonna work,” Frank told her, tipping his glass back.

“Shh, wait…” Leaning down, she eyed the Jenga tower from a different angle. “Shit.”

“Told ya.”

“Hush, you.” She pointed at him and some of her drink sloshed over the rim of her glass. “I think I can…”

Frank chuckled. “I think I can, I think I can…” He sipped his whiskey again. “Alright Little Engine That Could. Make a move.”

Karen furrowed her brow. “Okay, um…” She gingerly poked at one of the bars, pushing it out just enough to grab. “Ah… Ah!” She beamed when she pulled it out from the stack and the rest stayed put.

“Damn,” Frank muttered. “What’s that one say?”

Karen read the side. “Do a belly shot off the person to your left.”

“That’s unhygienic.”

“I can’t believe this was the prize at my friend’s bachelorette party,” she said, shaking her head. “Naughty Jenga. Pffft. Who needs Jenga to be naughty when it’s—” she gestured, a little sloppily, at the game. “Practically a blood sport!”

Frank chuckled and refilled her glass. “My turn?”

She hummed a ‘yes’ while she drank deeply. Rubbing his hands together, Frank squinted at the tower, choosing his next target.

“Does anything distract you?” Karen mused, leaning on her knees, eyeing him. “What if I start doing impersonations—”

“Nope.”

“—Y’didn’t lemme finish. Impersonations of you.”

Frank glanced up at her, smirking lazily. “Of me?”

Clearing her throat, Karen sat up straight and puffed out her chest. “’I’m Frank Castle,” she started in a false baritone. “Marine sniper trained. I’m 99% coffee and could kill you with my pinky if I wanted—'”

“Pinky’s kinda hard,” he cut in. “Maybe my middle finger.”

Karen grinned, cheeks rosy from the whiskey. “’Could kill you with my middle finger. I love dogs—”

“How’d you know that?”

“You’re not letting me finish, Francis.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “I told you, I’m just Frank.”

“No one names their kid- their lil baby- _Frank_. It’s Francis, or… one of the other names that you get Frank from. I dunno, I can’t remember, I’m drunk.” She finished her whiskey and pointed to the bottle. “Pass that?”

Frank handed her the bottle and refocused on the task at hand. Picking a corner piece—a risky move Karen told him—he gently, slowly, methodically wiggled it free from where it was lodged. The tower barely even shook.

“ _How_??” Karen crowed, almost spilling her drink.

“Y’tell me, you’re the one doin’ an impression of me.”

“You’re a wizard.”

Tossing the block in the air and catching it, Frank nodded. “Sounds legit.”

“What’s it say?”

“Kiss the person on your right for 30 seconds,” Frank read. “Huh. Seems a little tame if you ask me.”

“What if it’s a guy?”

“As long as he doesn’t use too much tongue, we’ll be alright.”

Karen nearly snorted whiskey out of her nose.

They continued to play, reading out the ridiculous naughty dares written on the sides, until Frank bumped the table with his knee and the remaining blocks tumbled down. Karen hollered for joy while Frank covered his face with his hands and groaned.

“Best 2 outta 3?” He asked, desperate to defend his reputation.

“Competitive much?” She giggled while refilling her drink. “How am I this drunk? I didn’t have _that_ much…”

“’Cause you haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“Right… Right!” Karen leapt up, practically jogging to the kitchen. “We have leftovers!”

“Oh geez, hold—hey, hold on, let me do that,” Frank called as she started preheating the oven.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not gonna burn the place down.”

“No, but you might burn yourself, here,” he said, taking the casserole dish from her. “I got it.”

“You’re so over-protective,” she said. “Such a dad.”

Karen halted, realizing what she’d said and how it sounded. Her hand went to her throat, face flushing with embarrassment.

“Frank… I…”

He shook his head. “Hey, no, it’s alright,” he reassured her. “It’s not… I mean, you’re right. I… I am. Was.”

“Still are,” she whispered, confirming his status as a father was permanent even if his children were gone.

Frank ducked his head, nodding once. “It’s… It’s alright though. I knew what you… I’m not mad.”

Karen took a deep breath, watching him load her oven with food. The quiet was tense and the longer it lingered, the more uncomfortable she felt. So finally, she cracked.

Holding out the bottle to him, she said, “Best 2 outta 3? I’ll let you stack ‘em.”

Frank’s lips curved as he took the bottle from her. “Want a movie on in the background?”

“Elf!” Karen exclaimed, rushing back to the living room.

Frank hung his head, groaning. “Rather be back in Micro’s basement.”

“What’s that?”

“Nothin’.”

***

They ate in front of the tv, watching some nameless Hallmark holiday movie and mocking it. At one point Karen muted it and dubbed her own dialogue over the characters’, getting Frank to laugh more than once.

They drank more whiskey with their pie, which they didn’t even bother putting on plates. Frank just grabbed the pie tin and 2 forks and plopped down next to her on the couch, slumping back and balancing the pie on his stomach. Karen snagged a fork and dug in, giggling at how she was using him as a table.

“Still drunk?” Frank asked her with a mouth full of pie.

Karen nodded, licking her fork clean. “Probably gonna be drunk for days after this.”

“Mission accomplished.”

Karen laughed, which made Frank laugh, which made her laugh harder. She leaned back, shoulder pressing against his as they watched the end of the movie.

“Wait, so who’s that guy?” Frank asked, scraping pumpkin pie filling from the middle of the tin.

“The… prince? Shop keeper.” Karen frowned. “The teacher?”

“Y’don’t even know what’s going on.”

“Neither do you,” she teased.

“I have an excuse, I went to get the pie.”

Karen tilted her head, forehead bumping the top of his. “You were gone 30 seconds.”

“An important 30 seconds, apparently.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Yup,” he agreed, sticking his fork in his mouth. It made Karen giggle.

Sliding down a little further, she pressed in against his left side, temple to temple. They stayed that way, eating a concerning amount of pie and heckling the next movie that came on. The physical contact was grounding, especially when the room began to spin. He was a solid touchstone and she wouldn’t have traded places with anyone in that moment.

Halfway through the next movie, she heard the softest of snores and turned a little to look. Frank was asleep, his fork his in his hand, pie tin nearly empty.

Gently, so as not to disturb him, Karen put the pie plate on the coffee table and tugged the throw blanket off the back of the couch, draping it over them both. She kept the tv on, curling in close to him and letting her eyes drift shut.

***

“Favorite color?”

“Pink.”

Karen laughed. “Stop it, be serious.”

“I dunno… Don’t have one, I guess.”

“Everyone has a favorite color.”

“Not everyone.”

“You have a favorite color, spit it out.”

“Alright, alright… If I had to pick…”

“Don’t say—”

“It’d be black.”

“No, come on, really??”

“It’s a good color!”

“It’s the absence of color.”

“That’s white.”

“Nuh-uh, black is the absence of color.”

“Well it should be white.”

“Stop arguing with me, I’m too hungover for this.”

“More Dim Sum?”

“Yes, please.”

*

“I can’t believe we didn’t watch this yesterday!”

“Please don’t…”

“What??”

“You’re not one of _those_ people are you?”

“I don’t like your judge-y tone. What people??”

“People who think Die Hard is a Christmas movie.”

“Frank! It’s totally a Christmas movie!”

“Just cuz something’s set at Christmas-time don’t mean—”

“That’s exactly what that means!”

“Nope. No way.”

“You of all people…”

“Look, a Christmas movie is supposed to… It’s gotta be nice—”

“Die Hard is nice.”

“It’s gotta have, I dunno, a Christmas theme or some shit. It’s gotta have meaning. A message.”

“Don’t mess with John McClane _is_ a message.”

Frank shook his head. “Not the same.”

“Oh my god… You like the soft, fluffy movies!”

“What?? Nah… Get out—”

“You do, you do!”

“I just don’t see what’s wrong with Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer is all.”

“You’re a big ole softy!”

“Stop it.”

“Okay, we’ll finish Die Hard and then we can watch Rudolph.”

“Don’t do it on my account… You’re into this John guy so…”

“Into??”

“You know what I mean...”

“Do I?”

“Un-pause the movie, Karen.”

*

“I still miss him… Is that bad?”

“No. He was your friend. You loved him...”

“I didn’t love him. Not… not really.”

“How do you know?”

“Cuz… If I loved him, loved him like that, I think… I think I wouldn’t have moved on so quickly.”

“Moved on?”

“I… I mean… I wouldn’t have let go of the possibility so quickly.”

“Hm.”

She sipped her coffee.

“I- I think you can love someone and… and know you’re not getting them back… And still—Still care for… still love someone else.”

“Doesn’t it feel… different though?”

“Mhm. Very.”

“Bad different?”

“No. Just… Just different.”

*

“Oh my god, seriously?”

“Hm? What?”

“I was in the bathroom for 2 minutes and you’re out here cleaning my gun?”

“Just wanted to check it, make sure—”

“I clean my gun, Frank.”

“I know.”

“So why are _you_ doing it?”

“Savin’ you the effort is all.”

“It also means you went through my purse.”

“Hey, I wasn’t snooping.”

“Sure you were, why else would you go ‘looking for my gun’?”

“I don’t like your attitude, miss.”

“I don’t like your lack of subtlety.”

“Look at me, I’m about as subtle as a grenade.”

“So…? Did you find what you were looking for?”

“.380 in the side pocket.”

“And?”

Gun metal clinked.

“Frank, if you want to know something, just ask me.”

Pieces slid together.

“Jesus Christ… Fine. Whatever. I hope you found out what you were looking for.” She wrenched open the fridge. “If I find a tracking device in my stuff, I’ll shoot you myself.”

“Rodger that.”

*

“Did you take the last of the sweet potatoes?”

“… Yes?”

“Karen…”

“You didn’t tell me you wanted them!”

“Geez… Alright.”

“Frank… Hey, wait, what are you…?”

Forks clanged together abruptly.

“You could have just _asked_.”

“Mhmm. Coulda.”

“Don’t smirk at me like that.”

*

“You’d like Curt. He’s… He’s a good man.”

“Tell me about him.”

“You know half already.”

“Tell me the other half.”

“Gonna fall asleep to this bedtime story?”

“Depends on your line delivery.”

“Karen.”

“C’mon, what’s he like?”

“He’s… a pain in my ass. But I guess I need that, huh?”

“Definitely.”

“He’s a good guy. He… His group… With the other Vets… It’s a good group. It, uh… It helps.”

“How often do you go?”

“Twice a week. Otherwise Curt hunts me down and talks my ear off until I cry uncle.”

“You’re right. I do like Curtis.”

“I saw that.”

“What?”

“You’re yawning.”

“Am not.”

“Go to bed.”

“Finish your story.”

“Then you’ll go to bed?”

“No promises.”

“Stubborn woman.”

“Yup. Now keep going.”

*

“Ow. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make me turn my head.”

“Somethin’ wrong?”

“Ha ha, very funny.”

“Hey, you’re the one who fell asleep on the couch.”

“Shh, don’t talk.”

“Told you to go to bed…”

“Stop it.”

“But ya didn’t. Now you’ve got a crick in your neck.”

“I’m gonna throw my coffee at you.”

“That’s not very polite, Miss Page.”

“I’ll show you polite.”

“Mhm. I’m sure you would.”

“Huh?”

“Eggs?”

*

Frank knocked on the bathroom door. “Hey, your phone is going off. A lot.”

“Who is it?”

“Ellison.”

“Shit.” The shower turned off abruptly.

“He’s not leaving any voicemails, just—Oh, uh… here.”

“Thanks.”

“Think he’s calling you back into work a day early?”

“After explicitly telling me not to come back until the 28th? Doubt it.”

“You’re dripping on the—”

“Ellison? Hey, what’s… Huh? Oh… Uh, hold on, lemme get a pen… Whoops, sorry F-Pete.”

“Smooth.”

“Huh? Oh, no, I just have a… a friend over. Okay, what was that name?”

“Aren’t you cold?”

“Shh.”

“Y’look cold.”

“ _Pete._ ”

“Alright, alright…”

“Okay, yeah, meeting tomorrow at 9am. Got it, boss. Huh? Oh… yeah, I’m… I’m feeling much better. Thanks. See you tomorrow.”

“You need better towels.”

“Should’ve bought me those instead of bullets.”

“When’s your birthday again?”

*

“I told you, Karen—”

“No, you alluded.”

“What the fuck d’ya want me to say, huh?”

“I just didn’t want you to think—”

“He’s a piece of shit, he got what he deserved, end of story.”

“Okay, okay… I just. You can talk about—”

“No.”

“Frank.”

“Not here. Not… Not with you.”

“Why??”

“ _Not with you._ ”

“You don’t have to hide what you did to Bill—”

“Don’t.”

“I’m not saying I want details, Frank. But he… He was your friend.”

“ _Was._ Past tense. And that’s the last I’m gonna discuss it with you.”

“Frank—”

“Please…”

“… Okay.”

“Okay.”

*

“You’ve got work tomorrow…”

“It feels like it’s been years.”

“Stuck in here with me’ll do that.”

“Shh, that’s not what I meant. I meant… I feel different.”

“You are different.”

“So are you.”

“That right?”

“You… You feel different too.”

“Yeah… Yeah I guess I do…”

“It’s good though, right?”

“Yeah, it’s… yeah. It’s good.”

“Frank?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t go yet. Leave tomorrow.”

“It’s a school night.”

“Don’t leave yet.”

“… Alright. Yeah… I’ll stay.”

***

Karen finished tucking in her white blouse and zipping her skirt. The smell of fresh coffee filled her apartment, and she smiled to herself.

“You want something to eat?” Frank called from her kitchen.

“I’ll grab a bagel on my way in.”

She barely heard his grunt over the hiss of her radiator.

“Could make y’somethin’… Maybe—”

“Don’t say eggs,” she told him, stepping out of her bedroom. “I’ve eaten a dozen all to myself in 4 days.”

“They’re good for you.”

She searched for her favorite pair of ballet flats to stick in her bag for once she got to work. In this weather, she’d have to wear her boots, even if she was just walking to the bus stop.

“Tell you what… I’ll get an egg and cheese bagel then,” she said as she bent down to look for her shoes at the end of the couch. “Hey, did you see my--?”

“By the end table.”

Tucking her hair behind her ear, Karen glanced over. “Ah!”

Packing her messenger bag, she double and triple checked her files, her notepads, her pen stash… She felt like it was her first day.

Going over to the fridge, she grabbed a bottled juice to take with her, and Frank appeared by her side with a mug of coffee, handle pointing out.

“Here y’go.”

Karen smiled. “Thanks.”

Taking it from him, she made a millisecond-quick decision. It still felt jerky and uncertain, but she was already halfway through the motion, and there was no backing out now.

Tilting her head, she leaned forward and placed a soft peck to his scruffy cheek just before he put his lips to his own mug.

Frank froze, but she saw the softness in his gaze as she pulled back. It sent warmth coursing through her, and she was sure her cheeks were rosy.

“I, uh… I gotta finish getting ready,” she murmured, taking her coffee with her to the bathroom so she could put on her make up.

Karen Page didn’t run from anything. Except maybe her own embarrassment.

Pinning her hair to one side, she lightly curled the ends before starting in on her foundation and blush. She listened to Frank move around her apartment as she swiped mascara over her lashes and dabbed on a little lip gloss. She never wore much makeup to the office—too concerned with smudging it when she pulled long hours or took a nap at her desk.

Emerging, she noted the way he paused in his own routine to look at her. Not with shock, but with a new appreciation she wasn’t sure she’d ever noticed until now.

“Time?”

Frank’s gaze shifted past her to the clock on the stove. “8:35.”

“Shit, okay…” She hurried to finish gathering her things. Frank was right there, handing her items before she knew to ask for them. She zipped up her purse-- with the returned .380 in the pocket—and reached for her coat, only to find him holding it out to help her put it on.

“Thanks,” she murmured, buttoning the front.

He simply nodded, making a soft noise she could never categorize as a grunt.

“Maybe if I’m late Ellison will congratulate me on learning to slack off,” she said with a laugh, stepping into the hallway with him.

“Hmm, maybe.”

Karen locked her apartment—both locks—and they started down to the elevator. Her stomach flopped as the memories of the last time they were in an elevator came rushing back.

At least this time he wasn’t holding her at gun point.

At least this time they weren’t getting yelled at by cops.

At least this time Frank wasn’t bloody and battered, metal sticking out of his arm.

Their very own Christmas miracle.

The elevator dinged, and they stepped inside. It was a quiet ride to the lobby, but Karen felt him looking at her. Felt it like hands, like breath, like tears rolling down her cheeks.

When the doors opened, she exited first at Frank’s insistence. It was a struggle to walk _towards_ the front door and not _away_ from it.

They’d had almost a week. Almost a week of… together. Of being thankful the other was alive. Of comfort. Of tearing each other apart and offering to stitch them back to one piece.

Once she was out those doors though… It was over.

They’d go back to being whatever it was they were. Frank would disappear like a shadow. Karen would go back to praying every time a body was pulled from the river, found under a bridge, or in a warehouse that it wasn’t going to be Frank. Back to hoping whenever someone nefarious was found murdered, it didn’t reek of The Punisher.

But Frank didn’t feel like a shadow standing next to her. He was real. Solid. And very, very much alive.

Biting her lip, she pushed open the door, caught off guard by the gust of cold wind that stole her breath.

“Sure you’re gonna be warm enough?” Frank asked, holding the door for her.

“My bus stop is right up there,” she told him, tightening the collar of her coat. “I’ll be alright.”

Frank nodded, ducking his head. He mumbled under his breath before saying more clearly, “Thank you, Karen. For… This.”

Her nose was already tingling from the cold and she never wanted to leave that spot.

She offered him a smile. “Any time, Frank.”

“Pete.”

She shook her head and stepped forward. Quickly—so quickly she thought she might have actually surprised Frank Castle—she wrapped her arms around him, squeezing tightly. She sighed when she felt him hug her back, just as firm.

“You’re still Frank,” she murmured, more into his shoulder than anything but he heard her.

The gentlest of nods against the side of her head was his only response.

Pulling back, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled. “I’ll… see you around?”

Frank grunted a ‘yes’, hand lingering on her waist until she turned to walk to her bus stop.

She was three paces away when he called out to her.

“Hey, uh, Karen?”

She spun to look at him.

“What are you doing for New Year’s Eve?”


	4. Epilogue: Can we make some peace (New Years Eve)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut awaits, all ye who enter here

Karen had just pulled the first bottle of champagne out of the fridge when she heard him knock.

“Come in!” She called, tearing foil off the cork.

She heard him before she saw him. Footsteps followed by the closing of her door.

“Still leavin’ your door unlocked, huh?”

She grinned. “I knew who was coming, so…”

Turning, she halted when she saw him. Frank was already taking his winter coat off, but the clothes underneath weren’t any she’d seen him in before. Black on black—slacks, belt, dress shirt, and of course, no tie. He’d shaved, but his hair was still grown out-- something she was very pleased to see.

“You look—”

“I- I wasn’t sure if this was a, uh, a fancy thing or not…” He cut in, adjusting the collar of his shirt, the first few buttons undone. If Karen didn’t know better, she’d have thought Frank was nervous.

“You look great, Frank,” she told him. “And look at that, we match.” She gestured to her black cocktail dress.

Frank grinned, breathing out a laugh. “Sure enough.”

Karen started to mess with her hair before remembering she’d pinned it in a fancier rosette style. She wanted to go a little retro, to match her outfit, but it left her without a nervous habit to occupy her hands.

“Somethin’ smells good,” Frank said, striding further into the apartment.

“I wish I could say it’s my cooking, but…” Karen glanced over her shoulder to the oven. “They’re hors d'oeuvres from a box.”

“Hey, it’s better than tuna in a can.”

Karen laughed softly, before gesturing to the bottle on the counter. “I was just about to pop this. You want a drink?”

“Yes. Please.”

She watched him wander around, just like he always did when he was in her apartment. Like he was reacquainting himself with her space.

“Still got your tree up, huh?”

Karen wiggled the cork in the bottle neck. “I never take it down until after New Year’s.” Yanking, the cork came out with a sharp pop, making them both jerk. “Now it’s really a party,” she said, smiling.

“Can I… You need help, or…?” Frank wandered over to her kitchen island, hands tucking into his pockets.

“You wanna grab the food outta the oven?” She asked while she poured.

Frank made quick work of pulling out the several trays covered in stuffed mushrooms and mini-quiches. Stuff Karen had always wanted to buy at the store, but never had a reason to, until now.

“You can put them on those plates over there,” she told him, pointing to the silver charger plates she’d picked up from a party store.

“Went all out, huh?” Frank asked, voice more smoke and whiskey than gravel.

“Felt like a special occasion to,” she admitted, dropping a small strawberry into each champagne flute.

Frank finished his task, bringing the plates over to stack on her island. When his hands were free, she held out his drink to him.

“Cheers,” she said as they gently clinked their glasses.

Frank eyed the strawberry inside his glass but didn’t comment. He thanked her quietly and sipped the sparkling wine.

“That’s good shit,” he said with a nod and a smack of his lips, making Karen smile brighter.

“I’m glad you like it. I never know what to buy, so I just go for the stuff that doesn’t look like it costs 5 bucks at a gas station.”

“Hey some of that 5 buck stuff’ll get you nice and drunk real quick.”

They both laughed, and Karen swore she felt his deep chuckle reverberate in her chest.

One of the Ball-Dropping shows was on in the background as they ate and chatted, both of them standing around her kitchen, sipping and refilling their drinks often.

Frank cleared his throat. “By the way, uh… You- you look great.”

Karen’s cheeks flushed. “Thanks. So do you,” she said, eyeing him from behind her glass.

“Yeah?” He flashed a lopsided grin and tilted his head. “I’m not used to…” he gestured to his silken shirt. “Feels a little weird.”

“Well, trust me, you wear the outfit, it’s not wearing you.” Karen immediately blamed her comment, and subsequent flirty tone, on the 2 and a half glasses of champagne she’d had.

Frank’s lips twitched in a grin she wasn’t familiar with, but one she really wanted to see more often. Especially when his gaze was skipping over her, lingering at the curve of her hips, her collar bone, her lips…

“Few more minutes ‘til midnight,” she said, trying to distract herself from staring at the exposed inch of Frank’s chest. “Any New Year’s resolutions for you?”

Frank chuckled. “Not unless you count not getting the shit kicked outta me again for a while.”

“Hey, I think that’s a respectable resolution.”

“What about you, huh?”

She swallowed, eyes darting away. “I’ve… got a few I’m mulling over.”

“Which are?”

Looking up at him, she said, “Be braver. More assertive. Really make the things I want clear.”

Frank let out a surprised laugh, shaking his head. “Wha- what are you talking about? You? You’re the bravest, most assertive person I know. To a fuckin’ fault, even.”

Inhaling, Karen locked her stare on his. “Not… with everything,” she murmured. “There’s still a few areas I could work on.”

“That right?” His voice was back to being whiskey smooth and it sent a shiver down her spine. “Like what?”

The announcers on the TV began the 30 second countdown, and Karen glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, we need more champagne to toast.”

Rushing, she grabbed another bottle from the fridge and popped the cork, bubbles spilling on her floor as she poured. Frank was chuckling in her ear as she dragged him with her to the window.

“What are you--?”

“If you sit here, you can see the fireworks over the river,” she said, taking half a seat on the windowsill. Tugging at Frank’s shirt, she motioned for him to sit opposite her. It was a tight fit, but neither of them minded. Karen’s knee was pressed into Frank’s, his foot tapping hers lightly. She was too busy angling herself to look in the direction of the fireworks display to realize she had her hand on his thigh for support. When her heel slipped, and she jerked like she might slide off the sill, Frank caught her at her hip, steadying her.

The announcers’ voices counted down just as the first explosions of fireworks lit up the sky.

Karen smiled and turned, only to see Frank wasn’t staring out the window at all. He was looking at her.

“You’re missing it,” she whispered.

“Am I?”

His gaze was steady and warm, and her heart double-timed.

Avoiding the question, and implications therein, Karen lifted her glass.

“Happy New Year, Frank,” she murmured.

Tapping his glass with hers, he said, “Happy New Year, Karen.”

Taking a sip, Karen felt brave enough to lean forward, angling to place a kiss on his cheek.

She hadn’t meant to linger. Hadn’t meant to inhale his scent so deeply she could memorize it. Hadn’t meant to drag her lips across his skin…

Pulling back just a fraction, she caught the look in Frank’s eye and her stomach fell to her toes.

“I… God, I’m sorry…” She whispered, starting to move away.

Frank’s hand cupped her jaw, holding her where she was.

“Are you…?” His voice cracked. “Sorry?”

Karen held his gaze, trying to form a thoughtful response. It was difficult when his touch was burning her, and she wanted to crawl into his lap for more.

“No,” she finally admitted. “I’m not. But… I don’t want you to think—”

Frank’s thumb caught on the corner of her mouth, and Karen fought not to gasp.

“I… Yeah, I…” Frank muttered, eyes darting from hers to her lips and back again. “Of course, I… Shit, I’ve thought about it, I just...”

“Frank?”

“If we do this, there’s no going back, Karen. We’re in it. That’s it. I can’t… It can’t be some casual bullshit, I wouldn’t… I won’t do that. To you.”

Fireworks continued to explode over the river, lighting up the city in bright golds, greens, reds, blues. Karen watched from the reflection in Frank’s eyes.

“I don’t want casual, Frank,” she whispered, leaning into his touch. “I want…”

“What? Huh, what do you want?”

“You. Here. With me. However you can do that, however it can be for us. That’s what I want.”

One minute into the new year and she was already sticking to her resolution. She was proud of herself.

Frank’s breath caught and she felt it. She watched, waited as he processed.

“It doesn’t have to be… now,” she offered. “I know that’s… I mean, if it’s too much, too soon, that’s okay. I’m okay. I just wanted you to know…”

Frank shook his head and at first she thought he was saying no, until he was leaning closer to her.

“There’s nothin’ to wait for,” he murmured, stroking her cheek. “It just… I… We’ll take it steady, yeah?”

She nodded as best she could with his hand still at her face.

“I really want to kiss you now,” she admitted, smiling softly.

“Mhm. Yeah.” He uttered, glancing to her lips. “Almost kissed you in the elevator. That day, after…”

“I know.”

“Oh yeah?”

Karen smiled again. “Yeah. Cuz I almost kissed you too.”

Frank grinned. “Didn’t seem… right. Would’ve been rushed.”

She hummed in agreement. “And now?”

She watched him lick his lips.

“You work tomorrow?”

“Nope.”

“Good.”

Karen blinked and suddenly she was being pulled forward, lips slanting over hers firmly. She lost her balance and caught herself on his shoulder, never breaking away from the kiss.

She couldn’t imagine breaking away now, not when it was this good, this right, this perfect.

He tasted like champagne and smelled like spiced soap and aftershave, and every inch of her responded to him like chords being strummed.

Frank tilted his head, deepening the kiss. His hand moved from her jaw to her chin, thump pressing into the dip just below her bottom lip. Karen moaned into him softly, and his grip on her outer thigh tightened. Her free hand started to snake beneath his open collar, finger tips grazing faint scars on his overly warm chest.

Pulling back just enough to take a breath, Frank pressed his forehead to hers, noses brushing. “Gonna make me spill this fancy stuff you’re havin’ me drink.”

Karen giggled, drunk on him for a change. “Come on,” she said, starting to stand up. Her legs wobbled but she managed to hold herself up.

Frank was right there with her, hand on her waist as she guided them both to the couch, taking his drink from him and putting their glasses down on the coffee table.

“Sit,” she said, fingers brushing his chest.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Karen rolled her eyes, but her smile never faded. “Always formal.”

“Not always,” he corrected, looking up at her from where he’d sat in the middle of the sofa.

The hunger in his gaze made her shiver and proved his point.

Karen didn’t waste any time. Planting her hands on his shoulders, she straddled his knees before lowering down to settle on his lap. Her dress was a little tight for the motion, but she figured if it became too restrictive, she’d just lift it higher…

Broad, impossibly warm hands clutched her hips, her back, her thighs. Holding her wherever he could, however he could.

It was Karen’s turn to hold Frank’s face while she kissed him. Long fingers cupping his jawline, playing at his ear, tugging at his hair until he arched back just the way she wanted. She nipped his bottom lip gently and was rewarded with the most arousing groan at the back of his throat.

She should’ve known he’d enjoy that.

Dragging her lips over his cheek, up his jaw, Karen tugged the tip of his ear between her teeth and Frank’s breath stalled in his chest.

“I like this,” she whispered against his ear, fingers toying with his hair.

“Hm?”

“Figuring you out.” She smiled and kissed his temple before moving back to his lips.

Frank’s hands roamed but never to where she really wanted him. Steady, like he’d said. But where he did touch, God, Karen felt like she’d been lit with a match.

Calloused palms stroked her thighs and calves, fingertips digging in when she found a particularly enjoyable spot to kiss or when she slid her tongue passed his lips to taste him fully. He started out quiet, but the longer she kissed him, the louder he became—soft noises turning into gruff moans.

“Frank?” She murmured against the side of his neck.

“Hm?”

“I want you to touch me,” she said, knowing he understood.

Frank nodded slightly, shifting under her. “Yeah… yeah, okay.”

Karen lifted up on her knees to help him hike her skirt up, not quite exposing her but it was more than before. Frank’s hands skimmed up her thighs, fingers tracing the occasional freckle, moving front to back until they disappeared beneath the bunches of fabric. She gasped when he grabbed a handful of her ass, kneading it lightly.

“Like that.” He said it both as a declaration of his own enjoyment and as a way to check with her.

“Mhmm.” Karen leaned down to kiss him, brushing her nose over his.

Her fingers made quick work of the buttons on his shirt, until she had to tug the hem out from his slacks, catching it in his belt.

“Gonna tear that,” Frank told her, grin audible.

Karen leaned back, fully supported by his knees, while she unbuckled him and yanked. Frank tilted towards her, placing kisses along her temple, her forehead, even her hair and the bridge of her nose. She giggled when his lashes fluttered against her cheek.

“Like that too,” he said, hands trailing up and down her thighs. “’Sgood sound.”

Karen kissed him firmly, pushing at his chest until he was leaning back. “I make better ones.”

His mouth fell open as she grinded against him, holding her hips as she moved. Karen’s soft moan was enough encouragement for Frank to reach for her zipper, lowering it only half way so the straps of her dress would slip down her shoulders. Her hands were all over his chest, exploring new skin, new scars. He was solid beneath her, thrumming with life.

She’d just swiveled her hips to the left when Frank moved, burying his face in her neck, kissing and sucking until she gasped.

Clutching the back of his head, Karen sank down, letting him hold her full weight while he trailed loved bites over her collarbone and between her breasts.

“You and these tight fuckin’ skirts,” Frank mumbled against her skin. “Tryin’ to kill me, I swear…”

“Like you’re one to talk,” she told him, a little breathless. “You look sinful in everything.”

Frank’s chuckle sent goosebumps up her arms. “Pretty sure prison jumpsuit orange wasn’t that flattering.”

Karen slid against him, making him groan into her. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that…”

Lifting his gaze, Frank smirked. “Really?”

“I wasn’t, like, imagining fucking you in jail,” she said, blushing deep red. “But… you looked good in court.”

“Miss Page, I had no idea.” He smiled, and she wanted to kiss him senseless.

“Sure you didn’t…” she teased, kissing the corner of his mouth.

His hands disappeared beneath her skirt again, finding the edge of her lace panties as they curved over her ass. Blunt nails lightly scratched at her, making her moan.

“We doin’ this?” He asked, voice gravellier than before. “Really doin’ it?”

Karen nodded between kisses. “Yeah, we are.”

“Good,” Frank said, already hiking her skirt up further. “Cuz I’ve wanted to watch you come for weeks.”

Surprise stole her breath, her gasp barely squeaking out.

“Is… You good with that?”

“Yeah, god yeah,” she told him, lifting onto her knees to adjust for him.

Biting his lip, Frank whispered, “Show me what you like. How you like it. Alright?”

He held the fabric of her dress back as Karen repositioned. Gaze drifting down, Frank made a hungry noise at the back of his throat.

“You wear these for me?” He asked, voice half wrecked as his index finger toyed with her crimson lace.

Karen glanced down, already aching for him to touch her. “I… I was feeling optimistic.”

Frank grinned and leaned up to kiss her. “Good choice.”

A new blush crept up her neck as Karen started to tilt back. “Like this?” She asked, her left hand drifting beneath the lace.

Frank’s grunt was more endearing than gruff, and she smiled as she started to stroke herself. His grip held her up as she moved, moaning softly, and she felt him watching everything—her face, her eyes, the spot below her jaw where her pulse thundered, her hand sliding and circling between her thighs.

“Here,” she said, suddenly removing her hand and grabbing for his wrist. “I want you to feel me.”

Cursing under his breath, Frank let her guide him, thick fingers pressing exactly where she needed him. Karen tugged at her panties, giving him more room, and held her hand over his, showing him the tempo and pressure she liked.

“Oh god,” she gasped, heat building low in her belly. Pushing him down an inch, she nodded her encouragement, and Frank worked his middle finger inside her. And then another.

Karen’s sharp gasp made him stall, only a moment just to check, before he continued.

“Good?” He asked, voice just shy of wrecked.

Her hair started to tumble out of her up-do as she nodded vigorously. “Mhm hmm.”

Wrapping his free hand at the back of her neck, Frank pressed his lips to her sternum, her neck, her chin, as she rode his fingers. Murmured directions became incoherent the closer she got. He pressed the heel of his palm against her clit, and Karen gasped his name.

“That’s it…” he whispered against her throat. “That’s it, sweetheart.”

Her nails dug into the soft skin inside his wrist as she moaned, holding his hand tighter to her.

Frank’s fingers tangled in her hair as he leaned up to kiss her. “How do you need it?”

“F-faster,” she stuttered against his bottom lip. “I’m so close, just…”

“I got you.”

Crooking his fingers and circling his wrist, he moved exactly as she needed him to, watching her face as she panted and cursed.

Catching herself on the back of the couch, Karen tilted forward.

“Frank, shit… Frank,” she moaned just before tipping over the edge and crying out.

He worked her through every wave, holding her, keeping her grounded as she shattered apart.

“Oh, fuck,” she groaned, a pleased little chuckle trailing after. Pushing a strand of hair from her forehead, she looked down at him, smiling.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, you know that?” He told her, fingers still inside her, other hand still tangled in her hair. Kissing her, he slowly, so slowly, removed his hand, making her whimper. “I know, I know,” he murmured into her mouth.

Karen blinked, still enjoying the dazed afterglow of her climax. She glanced down to see Frank lift his hand, sucking his digits into his mouth one by one, all the way to the knuckle until they were clean.

“Wow,” she breathed, catching his eye. “That’s hotter than I thought it would be.”

Frank’s smirk sent another wave of heat through her body. “Thought about it, huh?”

Wrapping her hand under his chin, she forced his head up to kiss him so firmly they were both going to have swollen red lips. “A lot,” she said, just before nipping his bottom lip.

Running his palm down her back, Frank snuck it under her to squeeze her ass. “Good.”

“You?” She asked, kissing the hinge of his jaw.

A dark, lustful chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Only every day for the last 9 months or so.” He reached up to tug the zipper of her dress down further, slowly and methodically removing the straps of her dress from her arms. “Thought lots of stuff…”

“Tell me,” she said, rolling her hips against him to make him groan.

Frank swallowed. “Like how good my head’s gonna look between your thighs.”

Karen’s pulse skyrocketed, her eyes fluttering closed.

Helping her arms out from the dress, Frank ran his thumbs over the lace cups of her matching bra. “Thought about these too… Having my mouth on ‘em while you got off.”

“Fuck, Frank,” she whispered, nails scratching his scalp.

To prove his point, he leaned up, placing several kisses between her breasts before tugging down the fabric to free her. Calloused hands grazed her nipples, gently at first to test her reaction before cupping her, pinching with just the right pressure.

“Frank?”

“Hm?”

“Bed.”

He hummed, but didn’t release her until she was squirming in his lap and gasping.

“Bed. Now.” She ordered.

“Yes, ma’am.”

In one motion, Frank stood, scooping her up with him and holding her to his torso. Karen wrapped her legs around his waist, and hooked her arms behind his neck as he carried her, kissing her the whole 6 foot journey from the living room to the bedroom. They knocked something over and Karen couldn’t even begin to care.

With as much grace as possible, Frank lowered her onto the mattress, and she propped herself up on her hands. She knew she looked a little ridiculous, with her dress bunched around her waist, her bra barely on, hair a mess… But Frank was staring down at her like she was something Divine—radiant and terrifying, surprised she hadn’t disappeared from under his touch.

“Hold on,” Karen said, standing up momentarily. “Help me out of this?”

She turned so Frank could assist her while she shimmied out of the dress. His breath was warm on the back of her neck, hands leaving wakes of heat wherever he touched as he slid the dress down her hips. He kissed the curve of her neck, paying special attention to a mole she had just above her shoulder blade.

He also unhooked her bra for her, and she slipped it off, dropping it to the floor. She started to turn when he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest, mouthing her neck. The heels she still wore made her about an inch or two taller than him, which put the curve of her ass right at his belt, his hard length jutting against her thigh.

“Heels on or off?” She asked, turning her head to see him. He chuckled into the skin of her shoulder and cupped her left breast.

When he didn’t answer, she pushed back, shifting against him until he was clutching her and breathing sharply through is nose.

“On,” he grunted.

Karen turned in his hold, hands skipping up his chest to the sides of his neck. Locking eyes with him, she smiled softly and leaned in to kiss him. She was certain she’d never get tired of that. Of holding onto him. Feeling—sensing—the man underneath the scars.

“You’re wearing way too much clothing,” she told him, grinning mischievously.

Snaking her hands under his open shirt, she pushed it off his shoulders, down his arms, until it was fluttering to the floor at their feet. Her gaze dropped to the old bullet wound scars on his chest, knife marks along his abdomen, and then lingering on the scar along his tricep. Raised, healed over… not at all like the bloody, awful wound she’d seen last.

“Pretty rough lookin’, huh?” He commented, noticing how she was running her fingers over it. “Shoulda let Micro stitch it…”

“Actually,” she said, glancing up. “I was thinking how much better it looks.” She paused, letting her right hand lay steady over his heart. “How better you are.”

Frank’s stare shifted, eyes suddenly shining with emotion. His lips trembled but nothing that came out was audible until he said, “… You… you kept me goin’ ya know. After. I… I needed something to… to look towards.”

Karen held her breath as she listened.

“The guys in… in group, they… they kept talking about their ‘why’. The reason they were tryin’. And I… I was scared. I didn’t have anything. And then… It just made sense.”

She reached up, cupping his face with her left hand. “Frank…”

“I’m not… I don’t wanna, you know… put more on this than is necessary. I ain’t tryin’ to scare you off or—”

“Shh, Frank.”

“No, no, I mean… I know it’s a lot. But… I just—You gave me something to hold onto. I just needed you to know that.”

Waiting a beat, Karen took it all in, let his words sink beneath her skin, into her bones where she’d carry them forever.

When she pressed her lips to his that time, it was a soft, tender motion that made time feel like it slowed just for them.

“I’m here, Frank,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to his. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He nodded, the tip of his nose bumping hers. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

Backing them up, Karen turned him so that the backs of his knees hit the mattress and he sat down.

“Shit, look at you,” he murmured, hands on her hips as she moved closer. “I knew you’d be beautiful, but this? Fuck… Karen…”

She blushed and smiled, pleased with everything in that very moment.

“You’re gonna give me a big ego,” she teased, kneeling on either side of his thighs.

With her breasts at the perfect level, Frank ducked his head and wrapped his lips around her left nipple, sucking until she was gasping his name. She clutched at the back of his head, holding him to her. If his muffled groan was anything to go by, he wasn’t complaining.

Keeping herself steady on his muscular shoulder, she worked her arm between them, cupping him over the fabric of his pants. She stroked lightly until he was grabbing her wrist and pulling her off.

“Y’keep doin’ that, and this is gonna be over faster than either of us want,” he warned, kissing her in the center of her chest.

Karen smirked. “Want me that bad, huh?”

“More than you fuckin’ know,” he nearly growled in her ear, sending shivers down her bare arms. “C’mere,” he said, hauling her even closer and lifting her up to flip them.

Karen gasped and giggled when her back hit the comforter, legs tightening around Frank’s waist as he leaned down over her.

“I meant what I said,” he told her, propping up on his elbow while he ducked down to leave opened mouthed kisses over her breasts.

“Hmm?”

Gaze lifting to meet hers, he grinned so seductively it make her heart trip.

“My head’s gonna look good between these perfect thighs.” He emphasized his point by giving her right thigh a squeeze.

“Oh God,” she breathed, painfully turned on already.

Frank prowled lower, kissing each notch of her ribs, the soft curve of her hip, the smooth skin of her belly, even toying with her navel with the tip of his tongue. She heard him kneel on the floor, pulling her gently with him until her legs were spread wide and her calves were over his broad shoulders.

 “Frank…”

He grunted quietly, kissing the crease where her hip met her leg. She didn’t have a chance to prepare before he was tugging the lace off her, leaving her panties dangling from one ankle before resuming his position. Heavy, scorching hot hands pinned her hips to the bed as his head dove down, and Karen yelped at the first swipe of his tongue.

He was gentle at first, tasting and exploring, testing her responses. Like he was savoring everything. Frank moaned against her and Karen shuddered, gasping.

“Oh God, oh Frank…”

Flicking his tongue up her slit, he smirked. “Gonna wake the neighbors…”

“Happily,” she said, and something in her tone made his gaze darken with lust, with hunger. When he returned to her folds, it was with newfound determination. Karen knew he was on a mission now… A mission to make her scream.

Raking her fingers through his hair, she held on for dear life as he wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked, running circles around it with his tongue.

“Frank… _Frank!_ ” She cried, arching off the bed. “Fuck, I’m--!”

Mission accomplished.

Karen screamed as she came, voice ricocheting off her bedroom walls.

He was relentless, eating at her until she was limp and begging him to stop, just for a moment. She yanked at his hair to pull him off and he chuckled deeply, apologizing as he kissed the insides of her thighs.

“… Just so good,” he mumbled into her skin. “Knew you’d be… Shit… So sweet…”

Karen tried to catch her breath, covering her mouth with trembling fingers. “Jesus Christ, Frank.”

Moving up the length of her body, placing lazy, wet kisses everywhere he could, Frank smiled at her. “Told you,” he murmured, teasing her nipple with a quick lick. “Thought about this a lot.”

Karen exhaled a laugh. “Clearly.”

Reaching for him, she ran her palms up his arms, over his shoulders, down his chest, memorizing him. Her fingers danced along his sides, to the edge of his belt and dipping lower.

“Karen?”

“What? I recovered,” she told him, nails dragging up his lower back.

He flashed a lopsided grin, huffing as he nuzzled into her neck. “Always eager, huh?”

She hummed in agreement, nodding and smiling down at him. “Condoms are in the bedside table.”

Tapping a rhythm at her side, Frank hesitated. Karen bit her lip, watching the gears in his head clicking together.

“Unless…”

“Shh, no, no, it’s not…” He cleared his throat. “Just… been a while, is all.”

Petting his hair, she kissed the top of his head. “You’ve hardly left me wanting,” she told him. “It’ll be okay, Frank.”

He sniffed, nose scrunching just a little, before he nodded. “Yeah… Yeah, alright.”

Pushing up, Frank moved to open her nightstand drawer and Karen sat up, hand on his back while he dug around.

“Got a few other things in there too, huh?” His voice dripped with amusement.

“I’m not ashamed of my collection, thank you.”

“Not judging,” he said. “Intrigued if anything…”

Karen beamed. “Oh yeah?”

“Maybe you’ll show me what you like to do with ‘em, yeah?”

Sparks danced up her spine at the thought of Frank watching her use one of her vibrators, or even handing it over to him to try on her…

“Yup, that sounds…” She nodded intently. “Yes.”

Crawling onto her knees, Karen kissed his back, his shoulder, arm draping over his chest. Finding the foil packet they needed, Frank turned, nose bumping her cheek.

“And the one with the remote?” he asked, teasingly.

“That’s for… much later,” she said, closing the drawer and swinging her leg over until she was straddling him again.

Holding her waist, Frank grinned at her, kissing the tip of her chin. “All sorts of secrets, huh Miss Page?”

“Ones you’ll benefit from if you’re good.”

She felt his chuckle more than heard it, and decided to take the opportunity to reach for his belt.

“Still too much clothing…” She murmured, kissing him as she unbuckled the leather and started in on his fly. “Mind giving me a hand?”

Pressing a kiss into her hair, he joked, “Give ya somethin’ alright.”

“Frank!” She laughed, and he tightened his grip around her waist.

“Yeah, yeah, alright…” Lifting her up, he eased her off him so he could stand.

Finishing what she’d started, Frank undid his trouser fly and tugged them down his legs until he could step out of them. Karen stared unabashedly at the thick bulge in his boxer briefs, mouth falling open as he peeled the grey fabric away.

“Not even tryin’ to hide it, huh?” Frank arched an eyebrow at her, lifting the corner of his mouth.

Leaning back on her hands, Karen arched her back and bit her lip when she caught the look in his eyes.

“Hide what?” She asked, feigning innocence.

“Don’t try that with me.”

He was back to her in an instant, caught in her hair, kissing her breathless. Karen pushed at his shoulders, rolling him until he was on his back. Shifting her hips, she slid against his length languidly until he was nearly growling in her ear.

“Karen…”

Her hair curtained them both, and she kissed him firmly while she moved.

“Kar-Karen, c’mon…” He gripped her tightly. “Please, sweetheart.”

Sliding her tongue passed his lips, she mimicked the movements of her hips, drawing out the most urgent noises from his throat. She planted her hands on his muscled chest, feeling simultaneously all-powerful and dainty, a heady combination to a woman like her.

Dragging her mouth to his ear, she murmured, “You took care of me… Let me take care of you.”

His eyes widened, hand clutching the back of her neck gently. “Karen… y-you don’t have to…”

“Shh, I got you.”

Sitting up, she tore the foil open and reached down, rolling the condom on him quickly. She delighted in watching his abs clench, hearing his breath catch at her touch.

Lifting up, Karen helped him line up with her entrance and steadily sank down, taking him inch by maddening inch until they were both panting. It was an intense stretch she needed to acclimate to, but once she started to move, everything melted into pleasure.

“Christ,” she gasped, rolling her hips to grind against him.

Frank planted his feet on the mattress for leverage, changing the angle just enough that Karen had to place her hands back on his chest. Digging her nails in, she watched his jaw work and nostrils flare as he struggled to hold himself together.

Ducking down, she kissed him. “Okay?”

He huffed out a laugh. “You’re kiddin’, right?”

Karen slid her mouth over his, taking his bottom lip between her teeth and nibbling until he was moaning against her.

“ _Fuck_ me, Karen, shit,” he muttered, grabbing her ass as she started to ride him faster.

She smiled down at him. “That’s the point.”

Frank retaliated by thrusting higher, making her cry out.

“You too,” he grunted, nodding. “C’mon.”

“I… God, Frank, I don’t know if I…”

“Yes you can, shh, shh, yes you can,” he said, voice ravaged with need.

He moved under her again, finding the right angle while she picked up the pace.

“That’s it... There y’go, c’mon sweetheart.”

Karen took one of his hands and lifted it to her breast, urging him to hold her firmly. Bottoming out, she circled her hips, working her clit against him just so.

“Frank… Oh, _fuck_ , Frank…”

He nodded, grunting. “Get yours, that’s right.”

It didn’t take much—a few expert thrusts, a few rolls of her hips, and then Karen was falling, crying out, clutching his shoulders as she was engulfed in bliss. Her eyes squeezed shut, chin tipping towards her chest, as she called out his name again.

But instead of stalling, she continued to ride him, whispering to him as she came down from her high.

“So, so good, Frank,” she started. “You’re so good, I’m… Oh God, you’re incredible.” She lowered her head to kiss him, cupping the side of his face.

“Karen…” He grunted, looking down the length of their bodies, watching himself disappear inside her.

She smiled into the kiss, nodding against him. “Let me see you, let me feel you, Frank.”

“I… shit…” His neck strained, heartbeat thundering under Karen’s palm.

His hips snapped up and a string of curses fell from his lips, barely above a harsh whisper. Karen gasped, feeling him twitch inside her, and kissed him tenderly through his own release.

Frank gripped her so tightly she knew she’d have small bruises the next morning, and she didn’t care. She craved them, wanted the memories to be as vivid as those bluey-purple spots.

He still shook, even minutes after, and Karen took to stroking his arms and chest as he kept her pinned to him. She kissed his face—his cheeks, his lips, the tip of his nose, even his eyelids and heavy brow ridge. Soon his breathing returned to normal, and he was smiling at her, smoothing her hair away from her face.

“Hey…” she whispered.

“Hey.”

His other hand trailed down her back, and Karen shivered.

“You cold?”

She settled against his chest. “Only a little.”

With a soft grunt, Frank reached over and tugged the comforter from one side, flinging it over them both.

“Shouldn’t we…?” She started to gesture down, implying they should clean up.

“Eh, in a minute,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I’m good right here.”

Karen’s eyes drifted closed, lulled by the aimless pattern he was drawing on her back. “Me too.”

*

Frank propped himself up on one elbow, fist to his temple, looking down at her. “An iguana?”

“What, they’re cute,” she giggled.

“And scaly.”

“They look like dragons.”

“Don’t exactly make ‘em cuddly.”

She playfully swatted at his chest. “I was 7 and I loved dragons, so an iguana seemed like a good ‘dream pet’ choice.”

Frank hummed, shifting his elbow against her light-yellow pillows.

“What about you?” Karen asked, glancing up at him.

“You called it before.”

“Dogs?”

He nodded. “Yup. Always loved ‘em.” His other arm, the one draped over her waist, toyed with the sheets. “In fact…”

She furrowed her brow while he paused.

A soft grin curved his lips. “I, uh… I went by a shelter the other day. Just to look…”

Her eyes widened in excitement. “And?”

Frank looked at her a moment before turning away, reaching for his cellphone in his pants pocket. When he rolled back, he was scrolling through, searching for something to show her.

Turning the phone screen to face her, Karen was met by a crisp photo of a grey and white pit bull puppy, with the biggest blue eyes she’d ever seen.

“His name is Max,” he told her. “He’s getting neutered and he’s gotta get his last round of shots, but after that…”

“Oh my God, Frank! You got a dog?” Karen exclaimed, sitting up further, not even caring the sheets fell away from her naked chest.

“Signed everything yesterday. I get him in a week.”

Karen lunged forward, kissing Frank’s cheek before looking back at the photo of the puppy.

“I’m proud of you.”

Frank let out a surprised laugh. “For what? For gettin’ a dog?”

Karen held his gaze. “For moving forward.”

He blinked, obviously stunned. His eyes turned glossy and he dropped his stare to the blankets, nodding and mumbling under his breath.

“Yeah, I…” He swallowed. “It seemed… okay to…”

“It’s more than okay. It’s good.”

“Yeah?”

Karen leaned forward to kiss him softly. “Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! I'd love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to comment!


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